


Remembering

by Elissa37



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Slow Build, Slow Burn, post 10x09
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elissa37/pseuds/Elissa37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After recovering his grace, Castiel uses it to rid Dean of the Mark of Cain, leaving him powerless, human, and his brain wiped of all his memories. Seeing it as Castiel’s last chance at normalcy and happiness, Sam and Dean help him settle into a new identity- one free of the horrors and burdens of fighting the supernatural. When Castiel’s memories unexpectedly begin returning, he and Dean realize that no matter the circumstances, the universe always finds a way to bring them together. </p><p>or in which Castiel falls in love with Dean Winchester twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a very rough WIP and it's got about 4 chapters written so far. I'll be uploading them one by one as I edit and write out the rest of the story, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes you might pick up.

_Cas._

_Cas, can you hear me?_

__  
  


_You’re gonna be alright, I swear you’re gonna be alright._

_Cas, please. Open your eyes. Blink. Do something._

__  
  
  
  


_Cas, I need you. I need you to wake up, buddy. Please_

  
  


There’s an incessant pounding in his head, loud and painful. His eyes seem to be glued shut and his throat feels as if someone had poured a gallon of salt into his mouth. _Where am I_ , he thinks, a sudden irrational flood of panic coursing through his veins, causing his fingers and arms to twitch to life and eyes to fly open.

 

He’s breathless, pulling himself up on an unfamiliar bed, letting his eyes adjust to the dimly lit room. The only sound is his own breath, coming out in small, labored gusts. He tries to think, to remember, how he ended up in here, but his mind comes up blank. There’s an emptiness in his head that he can’t understand, and a tremor runs through his body, dotting his skin in goosebumps and making his fingers curl into the damp sheets below him. His heart is hammering against his chest, and he’s trying so hard to just think, to understand what led him here. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the collection of guns mounted on the wall to his right and he thinks, _I’m in danger_. Before he can give it a second thought, he’s scrambling off the bed and stumbling towards the door.

 

___

 

Dean watches the bacon sizzle on the pan, seeming to look through it instead of at it. His mind is far away, replaying the agonizing pain, the shouting, the smell of burning flesh. His eyes flick down to his forearm, and for a moment he’s taken aback by it- the soft blonde hairs on fair skin- instead of angry raised flesh. He thinks of Castiel, laying motionless on his bed, heart barely beating.

 

“Castiel,” Sam says incredulously behind him, and Dean can hear the thump of his book as it falls against tile floor of the kitchen. He turns, half wondering if he’d voiced his thoughts, when he notices Sam isn’t looking at him at all. He follows the direction of his gaze and his breath catches in his throat.

 

“Cas,” he whispers, eyes growing wide and hand falling from the pan handle. Of all the things, he hadn’t been expecting a disheveled Castiel to be standing in the doorway of the kitchen, hair sticking out in every direction, eyes wide with fear.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters out, “I don’t know what you want from me but please…” his voice trails off just as Sam and Dean exchange a confused look.

 

“Cas, what do you mean you’re sorry,” Sam asks, getting up from his stool and taking a careful step towards him. Castiel inches back, like a hunted animal being backed up into a wall. His eyes flicker from Dean to Sam, and he can feel the fear dissipating from his body at the men’s looks of concern.

 

“I don’t know where I am,” He confesses, his voice coming out raspy and dry, “or who you are.” As he finishes his sentence he watches Dean grab an empty glass from the cupboard above him and turn to the refrigerator to fill it up. He walks over to him slowly, arm extended out with the water as a peaceful gesture.

 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dean asks, waiting for Castiel to drink. He can see his adam’s apple bob up and down, a look of bliss crossing over the angel’s face.

 

“Nothing,” he replies after he hands back the glass, empty. Dean looks at him, takes in the hollows in his cheeks, the darkness under his eyes, and paleness in his face, and the tremors shaking his body. He realizes the kitchen must be considerably cold for someone wearing nothing but boxers and socks.

 

“Come on, you need to put something on,” He says, reaching out to put an arm around him. When Castiel flinches, stepping back an inch or two, he looks over at Sam, who has the same worried expression he must have on his own face. He drops his arm

 

“Cas, you’re safe with us,” Sam says, trying to make his voice sound soft and reassuring. Dean watches him give Castiel the puppy eyes, and Castiel visibly relaxes, tension oozing out of his shoulders by a fraction.

 

“I’m sorry, I just…I don’t know you,” Castiel croaks out, voice still grainy and dry from lack of use and water. Dean sighs, pushes down the uneasy feeling in his stomach and walks on, expecting Castiel to follow him. When he hears silence behind him, he turns to see Castiel giving him an apprehensive look.

 

“Dude, seriously, we’re your friends. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says gruffly, trying to keep the situation in mind and not let his desperation get the better of him. The last thing he needs is to scare Castiel any more than he already is. With a slight nod he walks forward, letting Dean lead him down the corridor and back into the room he ran out of.

 

“Is this your room?” He asks when they step inside, letting Dean close the door behind him.

 

“Yeah,” Dean replies, suddenly very close to him. Dean brings his hands up impulsively, placing them on either side of Castiel’s face, letting his thumbs trace over the sharp cheekbones jutting out of his face.

 

“Do you feel okay?” he asks, and Castiel can feel the man’s breath on his nose, warm and smelling of coffee. He waits for the fear to come again, but is surprised to find a deceptively familiar comfort spreading through his body, as if he’s craved the man’s touch for ages.

 

“Yes,” he breathes out, letting himself look Dean in the eyes. Dean is not looking back, but tracing every curve of his face with sharp green eyes. Castiel memorizes the color.

 

“Man,” he laughs humorlessly, letting his hands fall from Castiel’s face, “Sam and I were so fucking worried, man.” He shakes his head as he walks towards what Castiel can only assume is a closet door. He pulls it open and stares inside contemplatingly.

 

“Your name,” Castiel says, finding it difficult to think straight with all the thoughts running through his head all at once.

 

“Dean,” he answers, turning around to give him a questioning look. “do you know yours?” Castiel ponders this for a moment, remembering that the taller man had called him _Castiel_ just minutes before. He voices this thought.

 

“Yeah, Castiel,” Dean repeats, turning back to the closet. “And that was Sam, my brother.” He pulls out a long sleeve shirt, a flannel, and a pair of faded blue jeans, turning back to Castiel with the clothes held out for him.

 

“Put these on,” he instructs, watching Castiel as he takes the clothes in hand and stares down at them with an undecipherable look on his face.

 

“Who are you to me?”

 

Dean contemplates this. “Family,” he says finally, offering him a small smile.

 

“As in, cousins, or something?” Castiel asks in confusion, brows furrowing down over his impossibly blue eyes.

 

“Family don’t end with blood,” is all he says before stepping out of the room and giving Castiel some privacy.

 

___

 

“Maybe it was the grace burning out. Could’ve zapped his memories away or something, I don’t know,” Dean grumbles, scraping the burnt bacon into the trash. He can feel Sam’s eyes on the back of his head, following him around the kitchen worriedly.

 

“At least he’s okay,” Sam says comfortingly. Dean turns around and shoots him an agitated look.

 

“You don’t have to keep looking at me like that. I’m glad he’s alive, Sam. Memories or not, at least he’s alive.” The words hang between them, and Dean knows the emotion in his voice gives away everything. Sam’s look softens, if that’s even possible.

 

“Yeah, we’ll just tell him everything, he’ll be back to normal soon-”

 

“No,” Dean interrupts, whirling around and jabbing the spatula in his direction, “absolutely not. Don’t you even dare mention anything about what happened.”

 

“What? Why?! He’s gonna start asking questions, Dean. What- you wanna just lie to him or something?” Sam asks incredulously. Dean sighs and turns around, bringing his attention back to the pan.

 

“Sam, the guy just woke up in a room with guns hanging on the wall and two serial-killer-looking dudes tellin’ him we’re his friends. He’s probably scared shitless and I don’t wanna scare him anymore than he already is,” Dean explains, scooping the scrambled eggs onto a plate.

 

“Yeah, I get that,” Sam starts, and Dean can already feel the argument on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Stop,” he says, putting the spatula down and turning to look his brother in the eyes. “Seriously, listen to me. Cas has been through so much, man. So much. He just woke up with no idea of all the shit that’s been going on in his life for the last six years, and he’s human. This is a second chance for him.”

 

Sam stares at him, the anger fading from him as soon as he takes one look at Dean’s face.

 

“Dean, we can’t just lie to him. Pretend he’s some person that he’s not, he would hate that,” Sam tries to reason.

 

“Sam, please. _Please,_ let’s just-” his words come to a halt when he catches sight of Castiel standing in the doorway again, fully clothed and hair only slightly less disordered.

 

“Hey, hope you’re hungry,” he says, giving him what he hopes is a friendly smile. The corner of Castiel’s mouth pulls up in the slightest, and Dean takes it as a good thing. He walks over and sits at the counter, keeping an empty stool between himself and Sam.

 

“I’m actually quite hungry, yes,” he says. Dean works quickly to plate the rest of the bacon and eggs and sets the food down in front of Castiel and Sam. After a couple of minutes of silent eating, the awkwardness hanging heavy between the three, Castiel finally speaks.

 

“So are either of you going to tell me what is going on?” Sam and Dean exchange a look, and Dean clears his throat and puts his fork down.

 

“Listen Cas, we’re gonna wait this out and see if any of your memories start coming back on their own. If not, then we’ll have to try and explain everything, okay? For now, let’s just take it easy.” He tries to go for a soothing tone, giving Castiel another attempt at a gentle smile.

 

“Yeah, look, we’ll help you settle in a bit more, okay? After a couple of days, you probably won’t feel as disoriented,” Sam adds, placing his hand amicably on Castiel’s back. He doesn’t flinch this time, and Dean takes it as a small victory. Castiel lets out a small sigh, but nods, returning his attention to his food.

 

They let him lounge around the living room all day, channel surfing and devouring every bit of food Dean brings over. At one point, Dean stands in the doorway for several minutes, watching Castiel’s face illuminated by the flashing colors of the television, the sides of his mouth and front of his shirt covered in breadcrumbs from the sandwich he had just finished eating. Dean feels his heart clench in his chest, a mix of relief and happiness churning inside him from seeing Castiel alive and breathing, doing something as human as watching television.

 

“Are you gonna just stare at him all day?” Sam’s voice makes him jump in surprise. He whirls around and shoots his brother an annoyed look, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him down the hall to the kitchen.

 

“I’m just making sure he’s okay,” Dean grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Sam.

 

“Dean, you’ve been making him sandwiches and making him drink ridiculous amounts of juice and water all day.”

 

“Sammy, he was in a coma for nine days. Don’t you think he probably woke up starving and thirsty?” Dean argues, and he knows it’s a shitty excuse for coddling Castiel all day, but goes with it anyway.

 

“He wasn’t just ‘in a coma.’ He had angel grace pouring out of his mouth and nose for eight days, okay? He hasn’t been human for very long-”

 

“Well, going a whole day without eating or drinking is still a long time!”

 

“How are you even so sure he’s human?!” Sam blurts exasperatedly, flinging his hands up in frustration. Dean’s jaw clenches, and even though it’s definitely in the realm of possibilities, he looks at Sam as if he’s gone crazy. “He’s been, what, vomiting out grace, but maybe not all of it. Maybe he’s still got some mojo in there. And I still can’t believe we’re just lying to him. If his memories start coming back he’s gonna be so-”

 

“I’ll deal with that if it happens,” Dean interjects, letting his arms fall with a sigh. “I’m gonna do everything I can to get Cas out of here, Sammy. As long as he doesn’t remember, I’m gonna keep him as far away from all of this crap as I can.” Sam is silent for a moment, scrutinizing his brother’s face with concern.

 

“Why are you so hell bent on this?” He asks, voice gone soft and eyes taking on that stupid puppy-dog quality that has gotten Dean to do so much crap over the years.

 

“Because he deserves better than this, Sammy,” is all Dean gives as a response, his shoulders sagging with weariness.

 

“Deserves better than _you_ , you mean. Is that what this is about?” Dean shoots him another glare, face going stony.

 

“I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to drop that shit. I-...it’s not like that, okay? Stop being such a bitch and just trust me on this, I know what’s best for him.”

 

“You think if he could remember everything, if he remembered everything he gave up for you,” Sam’s voice grows louder now, hands gripping the edges of the counter behind him, knuckles whitening, “you think this is what he’d think is best? You pretending like the last six years of him throwing himself at everything and everyone trying to harm you, him trying to save you in every way possible- how can you possibly think pushing him away is the right thing to do? Shoving him into some life where he doesn’t belong- no Dean, don’t look at me like that. He’s a celestial being as old as the universe itself, shoved into human flesh that can _just_ about contain him, and you’re gonna throw him into some mediocre life to give him some kind of stupid chance at what- at making a life of his own?”

 

Dean is silent, his nails digging into his palm painfully, trying very hard to keep the stinging in his eyes from forming into tears. “I’m giving him a chance to be happy,” he breathes out, and he knows the shakiness in his voice gives so much away, but he doesn’t care. “He’s never gonna be happy with me- with us. This life...it’s cruel, Sammy. You and me know that better than anyone. If I can just give him a chance to get away from this, that’s all I want.” Dean doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes, and the pained look on Dean’s face keeps Sam from uttering another word. He knows this look, the look Dean gets when he’s holding back tears, and he drops the argument, leaving the kitchen with a heavy sigh and a hand to Dean’s shoulder.

 

___

 

“We need to get you your own clothes,” Dean says jokingly, rummaging through his drawer for a pair of boxers to give Castiel.

 

“I don’t have my own clothes?” Castiel asks. Dean freezes, fingers curling into the blue fabric at his hands with a halt.

 

“They got burned. In the fire. There was a fire,” he lies, biting his tongue to keep himself from talking.

 

“Fire?!” Castiel sounds alarmed, coming to stand next to Dean. He searches his face, urging him to look up. When Dean finally meets his eyes, he lets out a long breath, honing all of the deception skills he’s acquired over the years.

 

“That’s why you’re staying here with us temporarily. There was a fire and all of your stuff burned and you almost died, which is probably what caused the memory loss. You know, PTSD or something like that, is what the doc said.” Castiel’s eyes widen gradually, and he places a hand on his head, threading his fingers through his hair with a disbelieving look on his face.

 

“That makes so much sense,” he breathes, and Dean feels a bout of guilt making his insides turn.

 

“Y-yeah. Anyway, we need to get you some clothes. Maybe we can go shopping tomorrow,” he adds with a tense smile, pulling the boxers out of the drawer and turning back to look for a t-shirt.

 

“What I still don’t get is...this...place. What’s with the guns and the giant tables and the lack of windows and...everything, really,” Castiel continues, looking to Dean for an answer again. Dean fishes out the last of the clothes and shuts the drawer with more force than is necessary.

 

“It’s complicated Cas, okay? Like I said before, let’s just wait it out and see if your memories come back.”

 

“Did the doctor say they would?”

 

“Doctor?”

 

“You mentioned a doctor before, didn’t you?”

 

“Oh, right. Uh, he said it could go either way, so lets just wait,” Dean says with an air of finality. Castiel takes the hint and doesn’t push it further, accepting the clothes from Dean with a small thank you and a forced smile.

 

“You can take my bed for tonight, I’m way too tired to go down into the storage rooms and look for sheets to set up a bed for you,” Dean says as he’s walking out. Castiel stops him at the doorway.

 

“Where will you sleep?” He asks, a look of concern twisting his face.

 

“Same place I’ve been sleeping the last nine days you’ve been in a coma. The couch in the living room,” Dean answers casually, as if his back hasn’t been aching, and every bone in his body hasn’t been screaming to have his own bed back. Castiel’s expression changes to something else, something soft that makes Dean’s skin feel warm.

 

“I know I don’t have much to go on, but you and your brother are very good people to me. I will be in your debt for as long as I live,” He says, his voice low and gravelly, yet somehow the most gentle Dean has every heard it.

 

“Nah man, you pulled both of us outta hell. There ain’t no repaying that,” Dean jokes, then realizes what he’s just said. “Hell as in, tough times,” he adds for clarification. Castiel lets out a huff of breath that sounds something like a laugh.

 

“I can’t imagine what I could have possibly done to deserve such friendship, but I am glad.” Dean brings his hand up and lets it rest on Castiel’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze.

 

“Me too. G’night Cas.”

 

“Sleep well, Dean.”

___

 

When Castiel wakes the next day, the smell of coffee lures him into the kitchen again, where he finds a steaming cup waiting for him next to a stack of pancakes and bacon on a plate. There’s a small note next to the breakfast, and he walks over to read it.

 

_Something important came up. One of us should be back by tonight or tomorrow._

_There’s leftovers in the fridge and two sandwiches wrapped in plastic on top of the_

_butter. Don’t go outside, we’ll be back soon._

_-Dean_

 

Indeed, there are leftovers. Castiel stares at the heaping surplus of the lasagna they’d eaten for dinner the night before, and what appears to be a roast beef sandwich and peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Something in his chest swells with affection. He sits at the counter and eats, letting out obscene sounds at the flavor. _Dean is a very good cook_ , he thinks to himself, washing down the sugary pancakes with bitter coffee.

 

After another afternoon of lounging on the couch watching television, Castiel becomes restless. By the time the clock over the fireplace is flashing _4:07_ , his head feels like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t get off the couch. He wanders around the kitchen, taking in the dirty dishes he left in the sink. He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and sets to washing them, wanting to leave the space clean for Dean when he returns; he seems to spend a lot of time in here. After dusting crumbs off the counter and refilling the water jug, he heads to the bathroom for a much needed shower.

 

The face in the mirror makes him freeze. He takes in the pale skin and striking blue eyes staring back at him, anger and frustration bubbling in his stomach at the conflicting feelings of familiarity and lack of recognition. There a small gash down side of his neck, sewn shut by uneven stitches. He strips, standing in front of the full-length mirror behind the door and watching the way his sinewy muscles move under his skin as he turns and stretches. He’s all lean muscle and pale skin, soft dark hairs trailing a line down his abdomen and into the waistband of his boxers.

 

When he steps into the shower, the rhythmic pounding of the water on his back is the best thing he’s felt since awaking from his coma. There’s a ledge in the wall, an assortment of shampoos and body washes scattered in disarray. He picks up a body wash that reads _Coconut and Peaches_ , takes a whiff, and can immediately assume it's Sam’s. He washes away the dirt and sweat that’s accumulated, massaging a generic brand of shampoo into his scalp that smells like Dean, and sighing at the sensation of clean.

  
  


Rummaging through someone else’s clothes feels wrong, but putting on his dirty clothes again feels even worse, so Castiel digs through Dean’s drawer until he finds a clean pair of boxers and something to sleep in. Halfway into pulling a pair of sweats up his thighs, he remembers Dean’s comment about finding clean sheets to put on a bed, and decides that it would be a nice gesture to do that for him. He can only guess the storage would be downstairs, so he sets out to find it, turning down corridor after corridor of doors lining each side until finally coming to a staircase.

 

He walks down cautiously, flipping on a lightswitch when he gets to the bottom. From the boxes and filing cabinets lining the walls, Castiel assumes he’s found what he’s looking for. He let’s out a breath, taking in the gigantic bookcases standing one after the other. Thick books fill the shelves, some with weird symbols written on the spines. He walks around, a gnawing feeling of uneasiness building in his chest. Kneeling in front of a box, he pulls open the flaps and peers inside; he sees about 50 folders organized neatly inside. He pulls one out, brows furrowing down at the _Men of Letters_ on the front. One after the other he pulls them out, each one reading _Men of Letters_ followed by a symbol of crossing lines in a circle. He contemplates opening them, unsure if he truly wants to know what’s inside. After another moment, he pulls the first one open, and is left confused by the neat rows of writing.

_Gregory Wyatt    52        Springfield, Kentucky     Deceased    1894_

_Lily Martin          36       Garfield, Utah                 Deceased    1894_

_Anthony Lewis    21       Lincoln, Nevada              Deceased    1894_

_Craig Stevens     43        Billings, Montana            Escaped      1894_

 

It goes on and on, pages of names and locations, some _deceased_ , some _escaped_ , and a few _N/A._ Castiel stares at the pages, trying to make sense of it, but his frustration only grows. Each folder is exactly the same, just name after name, locations after locations, and no other information. He slips the folders back inside, trying to make them look as they were, and closes the flaps. His eyes get caught on the thick black writing on one of the flaps that he hadn’t noticed before. _Vampires, 1850-1900_ it reads, and it does nothing to help his confusion. A muted ringing brings him out of his thoughts, something that sounds like a phone, but he realizes it’s coming from upstairs and he won’t get to it in time. When the ringing dies out, he takes a breath and decides to focus on the bedsheets again. Realizing they’re not going to be among the piles of organized madness, he keeps looking, walking down another corridor and into what seems to be a different storage room. This one is somewhat neater, with more giant bookcases lining the back wall.

 

With a defeated sigh, Castiel heaves himself off the floor, pushing boxes back against the wall and dusting his sweats off before calling it a night. His head is swimming with questions, the uneasiness inside him still unsettled, but he nestles into Dean’s bed with exhaustion, too tired to keep thinking about it.

 

___

 

Dean’s knuckles whiten, his grip on the steering wheel growing impossibly tight. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, guilt and worry making him feel like pulling over and hurling the burger he’d had for dinner onto the side of the road. He can feel the blood dripping down his face from the gash on his head, but he can’t stop to worry about it. When the bunker finally comes into view, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and pulls Baby into their monster of a garage with more recklessness than usual. He scrambles to get out, every step seeming to take too long, so he breaks into a run.

 

When he bursts into his room, he isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it sure isn’t a sleepy Castiel to jolt awake, sitting up in bed in surprise.

 

“Dean?” he croaks, voice raspy and low, squinting at him with one eye open, and bringing a hand up to cover his face from the light flooding into the room.

 

“You’re okay,” Dean breathes, letting his body sag against the doorframe, feeling the relief wash through him like a cold breeze on a hot day. When Castiel’s eyes adjust to the light and finally look at him, they widen in surprise.

 

“Dean, oh my- you’re bleeding so much,” he sputters, scrambling off the bed and walking over to the door. Dean realizes what he must look like, blood gushing down his face, split lip, and bruised cheekbone. When Castiel brings up a hand to touch his face he steps back, watching a look between hurt and confusion cross the man’s face.

 

“It’s okay, it happens all the time,” he assures him, taking another step back and giving him a feeble attempt at a smile. Castiel’s expression doesn’t change, and they stare at each other in heavy silence.

 

Dean clears his throat, “I called.” Castiel cocks his head to the side, until Dean adds on, “earlier, I called. You didn’t pick up and I got worried so I…” his voice trails off, eyes breaking away from Castiel’s gaze and focusing on the wall beside him.

 

“Oh, that was you. I’m sorry I didn’t think it would worry you, I- I’m sorry,” is all he says, eyes still locked on the blood currently drying up on the side of Dean’s face. _Men of Letters_ pops into Castiel’s head all of a sudden, but a second after he opens his mouth to question Dean about it, he takes in the man’s exhaustion, the weariness in his features, the way his body is sagging over with fatigue. He closes his mouth.

 

“I’m sorry about coming home like this,” Dean chuckles humorlessly, bringing a hang up to his cheek and wiping the blood there futilely.

 

“Where’s Sam?”

 

“He stayed back. Finishing up some business we had to take care of,” Dean answers, turning to leave.

 

“Men of Letters business?” Castiel blurts, unable to help himself. The frustration of not knowing was eating him up inside. Dean turns back slowly, his face hard and expressionless.

“How do you-” he stops, closing his eyes and taking a short breath, coming a step closer, “did your memories start coming back?” For a moment Castiel wants to lie, wants to tell him _yes, they did_ , and see what he can get out of him, but then he remembers the sandwiches and the pancakes and the borrowed clothes he’s wearing and the warm bed he was just sleeping on and decides it would be cruel to lie to someone who’s been nothing but kind to him.

 

“No, I was looking for bedsheets,” Dean’s brows furrow down at this, “I wanted to fix a bed so I could give you your own back. As a nice gesture for everything you’ve been doing but I- I ended up in one of those storage rooms downstairs with the boxes and I kept seeing that everywhere. _Men of Letters_ ,” Castiel confesses, expecting Dean to get angry at him for snooping around. Instead his expression relaxes.

 

“It’s a secret organization, Cas. Sam and I, we’re Men of Letters,” Dean tells him. Castiel wants to roll his eyes because, _obviously,_ it’s some kind of secret organization. He had guessed that much already.

 

“I got that from all the cryptic files and things down there. What is it?” He pushes on, wanting to get as much information as he can.

 

Dean looks at him, and for a moment he thinks of telling him the truth. _Maybe Sammy’s right,_ he thinks, but Castiel is looking at him with innocent eyes, filled with curiosity and he look so vulnerable, so human, that Dean shakes the thought.

 

“I can’t tell you, Cas. It’s a secret for a reason, and if you knew anything, it would put you in danger. Trust me, that’s the last thing I want. Just know that Sam and I are a part of it and we do things to keep people safe,” he explains, and he can tell that Castiel isn’t completely satisfied, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to push for more. “I need to wash up and sleep, so, go back to bed. Sorry for waking you.” He walks away before Castiel can respond.

 

 

He walks into the living room after a long shower, wearing some of Sam’s baggy clothes because all of his stuff is in his room and he doesn’t want to disturb Castiel. When he reaches the couch, blankets and pillow in hand, he’s brought to a halt by Castiel’s sleeping form curled up on it. He stares, confused, at the rise and fall of Castiel’s chest, watching each small breath that leaves his parted lips.

 

“Cas,” he whispers, kneeling down in front of him and placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder, “Cas, what the hell are you doing here, go to bed.” Castiel’s eyes flutter open slowly, focusing on Dean’s in the dimly lit room.

 

“You take the bed tonight,” he mumbles, mustering a small smile. Dean feels a wave of affection run through him, the desire to wrap Castiel up in his arms suddenly overwhelming. He slides his hand off him.

 

“You’re the one who just woke up from a coma, you take the bed,” he hisses back. Castiel lets out a breath of laughter, still unmoving.

 

“You just got home bloody and more tired that I’ve ever seen someone. And besides, it’s your bed. Take it,” he argues, closing his eyes to signal the end of the conversation.

 

“I will carry you back into that room,” Dean threatens, but he knows Castiel can hear the smile in his voice, because he smiles too, eyes still closed.

 

“Dean”

 

“Cas”

 

“ _Dean_ ,” he pleads, opening his eyes and giving him a sincere look of worry, “please, take the bed.” Dean sighs, pushing himself upright and holding back a laugh from the look of satisfaction on Castiel’s face.

 

He thinks he hears a soft, breathy _sleep well, Dean_ , but it could’ve been the breeze, so he switches off the long lamp that was on and heads to his room. When he’s settled in bed he stares at the ceiling, thinking back to the first few days Castiel was in a coma, how he didn’t leave this room. Every moment, he sat on the edge of his bed, watching the glowing streams of grace pouring out of Castiel’s mouth and nose, fizzing out and disappearing into thin air. Hannah told them he was dying. She asked to be given his body, that she would take it back to heaven and honor it with the rest of her brothers and sisters the way he deserved, but she was crazy if she thought Dean would even let her take him.

 

_“He doesn’t deserve to die like this!” She had shouted, and if she had been human, tears would have been pooling in her eyes. He fists were clenched._

_“You’re gonna have to take him from my dead hands if you want him that bad,” Dean had screamed back, moving to stand in front of Castiel’s unmoving body protectively._

_“_ You _did this to him,” She had shouted, “You always do this to him! He burned out what was left of him trying to save your_  precious _human soul.” Dean had been quiet because he knew it was true. He knew the lack of demonic anger pumping through his veins at that moment was because of Castiel, because he had decided that saving Dean Winchester was more important that his own life._

_“I know”_

_“You know what, keep him,” she had said, voice resigned and tired. Dean’s stomach clenched at how much she reminded him of Castiel. The rawness in her emotions. The vulnerability. “If there’s one person he would want to die next to, it would be you.” Then she was gone._

 

Dean’s eyes sting, and he brings his forearm to rest over them, remembering painfully where his mark used to be. He’s flooded with memories again; memories of burning flesh, of Castiel’s hand over his sizzling skin. There was so much pain, but it didn’t compare to the torment in his heart of watching Castiel pouring his grace into him.

 

_“You can’t do this!”_

_“You asked me to save you”_

_“I asked you to take me out! It doesn’t have to be like this. Cas, please!”_

_“You may be able to live in a world without me, but I- I can’t live in a world without you”_

_“You’re old as balls, Cas. You been living without me forever!”_

 

_“Forever pales in comparison to my time with you, Dean Winchester.” ___

 

Those had been his last words. Their eyes had locked, one last painful time, and then Castiel was gone, body collapsing over, hand finally letting Dean go, leaving soft delicate skin beneath it.

  
Dean begs sleep to come, and with the exhaustion in his body it should be easy, but he’s restless for hours before he finally dozes off, Castiel's raspy voice lulling him to a restless sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We can’t keep doing this,” he murmurs between kisses, hands sliding under Castiel’s dirty white shirt, fingers skimming over unwashed skin. _You started this _, Castiel thinks, his hands tightening on the front of Dean’s shirt.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo finally, an update! I've been meaning to get this posted sooner but break is over and university started up again, and I'm taking 4 science classes so you guys can imagine the crazy workload and how much studying I have to do D':
> 
> I'll try to update regularly, but I do have to prioritize my schoolwork over writing fanfiction, so I'm sorry if they come a little slowly.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy :)
> 
> ps. Again, sorry for any mistakes, most of this is edited in a rush.

When Dean makes his way into the kitchen the next morning, he finds Sam hunched over his laptop, hot cup of coffee in his hand.

 

“What time d’you get in?” Dean grumbles, pouring coffee for himself and leaning over the counter in front of his brother.

 

“About two hours ago. What’s with Mr.Comatose on the couch? You finally kick him out of your room?” Sam jokes, giving Dean a small smile over his cup. Dean sneers at him, taking a sip and reveling in the burning sensation that travels down into his empty stomach.

 

“He was very insistent on me having my bed back.” Sam chuckles, taking another long sip of coffee. “You know he asked me about the Men of Letter last night? Apparently he was snooping around downstairs,” Dean tells him, nodding at Sam’s surprised expression. “We gotta get him outta here.”

 

“Oh, speaking of that,” Sam perks up, as if suddenly remembering something. He leaves and returns two minutes later with a large yellow envelope in hand. “I stopped on the way and managed to some documents for him,” he explains, pulling out the envelope’s contents and spreading it on the clean side of the counter. Dean looks down at the pile; passport, driver’s license, birth certificate, social security card, and two credit cards.

 

Dean lets out a low whistle, lifting the passport up to get a better look. “Thought you weren’t on board with my plan- _Novak_? You gave him Novak as a last name?!” Sam puts up his hands in defense.

 

“That was Jimmy’s last name, I couldn’t think of anything else. And hey, even if I’m not on board with lying to Cas about _everything_ , there’s no arguing with you about this kind of crap,” Sam explains, shoving the documents back into the envelope.

 

“You should start looking for apartments, something small that he can afford with a job minimum wage job. Away from Lebanon, but maybe not too far. Actually, maybe he can stay in...what?” Sam is staring at him, that knowing look on his face. Dean scowls, downing the last of his coffee. “I’m just saying, maybe it’s best if we stay a little close.”

 

“Dean,” Sam’s voice gets serious, and he meets his brother’s eyes with concern, “you realize just because Cas can’t remember anything, it doesn’t mean everyone else can’t, right? I mean, Hannah and the other angels, they’re gonna find out sooner or later, and they’re gonna come looking for him. Hell, every demon on the planet can probably recognize Cas. Don’t you think sending him out into the world on his own is a little dangerous?” Dean looks away, because _of course_ , he’s thought about that.

 

“I know, Sam,” He says, and Sam can see that Dean isn’t in the mood to argue, “I’m gonna make sure he’s safe. I can take care of it.” Sam isn’t so sure, but he doesn’t voice that. They turn to the archway at the sound of footsteps and meet a groggy Castiel scratching the sleep out of his eyes.

 

“Goodmorning- oh Sam, you’re back,” he smiles, walking into the kitchen and pouring himself coffee with little hesitation, as if he’s been living with them for years. Something stirs in Dean at the domesticity of it all. He pushes the _what if he did say_  thoughts slowly creeping their way into his head and clears his throat.

 

“You and I are going out to buy you some clothes today,” Dean tells him, watching as Castiel takes a long gulp and winces at the scalding heat.

 

“You’re letting me go outside?” Castiel asks in surprise, eyes widening a fraction. Dean and Sam exchange a look, similar expressions of concern crossing their faces.

 

“Cas, you’re not trapped here or anything,” Sam says.

 

“Dean’s note said not to leave,” Castiel explains, putting down his mug and giving Dean a look.

 

“Yeah, ‘cause we weren’t here, and we’d be worried if you were just wandering around the streets with no memories or any idea of where you are,” Dean explains, feeling a flash of hurt at the thought that Castiel would think any of his intentions were malicious.

 

“Oh,” is all Castiel responds, looking down at the floor in abashment.

 

“Speaking of memories,” Sam cuts in, ignoring the sharp look Dean shoots him, “you haven’t uh, remembered anything?” Castiel looks up, seeming to contemplate whether telling them something or not.

 

“I had a weird dream last night. I was standing in a yard watching someone rake leaves I- I can’t remember who the man was,” Castiel tells them, scratching at the back of his head as if trying to remember.

 

“I don’t think that was a memory,” Dean says, giving Sam the same confused look he’s giving Dean.

 

“Yeah, just a dream,” Sam agrees. Castiel shrugs and picks his mug back up to finish the rest of his coffee.

 

___

 

“Whoa,” Castiel’s eyes trace every curve of the cars lined up one after the other, their glossy hoods shining under the fluorescent garage lights. “You and your brother must be very wealthy,” he declares. Dean laughs, and Castiel gives him a look of confusion.

 

“We actually aren’t,” he corrects him, walking towards the impala parked at the end. "Our grandfather, and his dad before him, and his dad before him, and so on, they were all part of this Men of Letters thing, so we actually didn't pay for any of this stuff." Castiel's eyes sparkle with interest, and Dean can see the questions he's about to ask, so he cuts in and adds, "but again, very top secret stuff, so let's not talk about that."

 

Castiel is quiet most of the ride, eyes glued to the passing trees outside the passenger window. After passing the "Now leaving Lebanon," sign, Castiel turns to Dean and says, "did you know Lebanon is the geographic center of the country?" This is followed by a look of surprised perplexion on his own face. "Why do I know that?"

 

Dean laughs again, sneaking a quick glance at Castiel before dragging his eyes back to the road. "Probably just buried information in all of those forgotten memories," he guesses.

 

"Speaking of that," Castiel says, and Dean feels a flood of sudden nerves at the topic, "I really hope my memories will return. I can't remember anything, yet somehow a lot of things feel familiar. Like this, sitting in this car with you feels like I've done this a million times, I-ugh, I can't remember any of it. And I don't know who I am, and that's so frustrating. I don't know anything about myself, my family, my job, my dreams-" he stops, biting down on his bottom lip to keep from rambling.

 

Dean clears his throat, feeling guilt creeping into him. "Well, Sam and I know you pretty well, so you can always ask," he tries to reassure him. Castiel looks at him silently for a moment and Dean is almost reminded of apocalyptic times; times when Castiel was a whirlwind of angelic fury, slamming him into walls and stepping into his space and staring at him with eyes far too human for the stoic coldness of an angel.

 

"How did we meet," brings him out his reverie.

 

"Uh, I stabbed you."

 

"You stabbed me?!"

 

"I was on a mission, and I thought you were a threat." Dean's mind flashes back to that, to the barn sizzling with electricity, the door slamming open, and all 5 feet 11 inches of Castiel strolling in, sparks blowing up all over the place. "I stabbed you but you saved my life- don't ask about that I'm not legally allowed to tell you," Castiel scowls at this, "and then you saved Sam."

 

He's silent again for a while, and Dean begins to worry that he's not satisfied, until he asks, "what do I do for a living?"

 

"You uh, you worked at a gas station convenience store." _That ones not even really a lie_ , Dean thinks proudly.

 

“That’s very unimpressive.”

 

“You said there was a certain dignity to it,” this makes Castiel’s lips pull up at the corners, and Dean has to keep reminding himself to look forward.

 

The mall is mostly empty, which is expected on a Tuesday afternoon. Dean lets Castiel pick out clothes he likes, giving him only shrugs when Castiel asks his opinion.

 

“Is this something I would wear?” He asks when they’re in Gap, holding up a soft knit cardigan that Dean can already picture hugging the curves of Castiel’s biceps nicely. He clears his throat and shrugs.

 

“I don’t know Cas, if you like it just get it. Chances are your likes aren’t gonna change just ‘cause you can’t remember ‘em.” Castiel nods as if he can’t believe he didn’t realize that, and drops the cardigan into the shopping bag. Dean notes Castiel’s preference for soft sweaters and files it away for future reference.

 

“Dean, I don’t know when I’ll be able to repay you for buying me all of these things,” Castiel says, hefting two of the bags higher up on his wrists as they make their way down to the foodcourt at Dean’s suggestion that they grab lunch before heading back.

 

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Dean,” Castiel pulls him aside when they get off the escalators, “really, I- I don’t know how to thank you for all of this.” His voice is earnest, feathery, almost too emotional for Dean to handle.

 

“C’mon man, seriously,” he says gruffly, turning away to continue walking, “it’s no big deal, this is what friends do.” Castiel remains silent, but Dean can feel him staring.

 

They settle for Chipotle, biting into oversized burritos with gusto.

 

"Dean, may I ask you something," Castiel asks, wiping at the side of his mouth with a napkin.

 

"A'course, Cas," Dean responds with a mouthful of beans and steak and rice

 

Castiel looks like he's mulling something over in his head before finally speaking. "What's the nature of our relationship?" Dean stops chewing for a second, making the mistake of locking eyes with Castiel. A surge of electricity shoots up his spine, making his fingers shake as he wipes his mouth.

 

"What d'you mean?" He asks, refusing to meet his eyes again.

 

"I mean you and I, what is our relationship exactly?"

 

"We're friends, Cas."

 

"Is that all?" Dean looks up at him again, seeing only curiosity on the man's face.

 

"Is it hard to believe that's all?" His voice is shaking, he can hear it himself.

 

"Sam and I are also friends, but Sam doesn't treat me the way you do, nor do I feel the same way around Sam as I do around you" he clarifies.

 

"Yeah well, you and I have a more...profound bond," Dean smiles, watching Castiel smile in return without getting the joke.

 

“Am I heterosexual?” Dean falls into a fit of coughing at that, pounding his chest with a tight fist.

 

“I-I don’t know, we don’t talk about that kinda crap,” he responds in a voice that is probably more hostile than necessary. Castiel looks taken aback, dropping his eyes to his half eaten burrito and frowning.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, picking out an onion to keep himself from looking at anything but Dean.

 

“You had sex with a woman once,” Dean says slowly after a few minutes, taking the straw of his drink into his mouth and sipping thoughtfully. Castiel watches him, feeling something run up his spine at the sight of Dean’s lips wrapped around the cheap plastic, his heart seeming to pump right in his ears.

 

“Did I,” he says it as a statement more than a question, pushing his knees together to ease the sudden sensation between his legs.

 

“Yeah but that’s pretty much all I know about your love life. Oh, and you were a still a virgin in your 30’s, there’s also that.” This makes Castiel grin, and something about seeing such a cheerful expression on his face makes Dean’s mood lift almost instantly.

 

They finish the rest of their food with light conversation, Castiel jokingly bothering Dean about his unhealthy collection of flannel shirts and Dean telling Castiel a story about the time he and Sam hustled three guys out of 300 bucks and then got into a bar fight that ended with Sam getting his nose broken.

 

They’re still laughing by the time they clamber back into the impala, shoving all of the shopping bags onto the back seat. When Dean turns the key in the ignition and is about to pull out of the parking lot, the _Bed Bath and Beyond_  sign high up on the second floor of the mall catches his attention. He hesitates, then pulls the key out, shoving it into his pocket and climbing back out of the car.

 

“Stay here, I’ll be back in like 15 minutes,” he tells Cas, who’s halfway out of the passenger seat, arm slung over the car door.

 

“Wait, where are you going?” He shouts at Dean’s retreating form.

 

“Just sit tight, I’ll be right back!” Dean responds without turning. Castiel gets back into the car, pulling the door shut after him, and stares at Dean until he disappears between the glass doors of the mall entrance. He looks out over the mostly empty parking lot and watches a middle aged woman carrying a little girl in her arms make her way back to her car. As if sensing Castiel’s gaze the woman turns, and for a second Castiel thinks he’s going crazy when the woman’s eyes are suddenly black, a smile spreading across her face that makes Castiel’s blood go cold. He blinks twice and the woman is already strapping the little girl into a car seat, the blackness gone from her eyes.

 

Castiel lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and as soon as the car pulls out of the parking lot, he scrambles out of the impala and runs back into the mall. There something eerie about a place that’s supposed to be filled with people being so utterly vacant, and it only makes him more jumpy and nervous. He swivels around, eyes sweeping from store to store trying to get a glimpse of Dean somewhere- anywhere. He turns around and around, feeling his breath come out more and more labored, and suddenly he’s on the floor clutching at his head, an agonizing pain pounding inside of it. He bites down on his bottom lip, suppressing a scream and there are visions of people with black eyes flashing in his mind one after the other. He can taste blood in his mouth, and it takes a while for him to realize it’s oozing out of his own lip.

 

“Cas!” he can hear Dean shouting, but the pain won’t stop, and he can’t get off the ground. He feels hands on him, trying to pull him up, but the pounding in his head only gets stronger, and he sees more black-eyed people, more darkness.

 

“Cas, talk to me! What’s going on!” Dean is shouting now, his hands digging into Castiel’s shoulders painfully, trying to shake him out of it. Images are exploding behind Castiel’s closed eyelids- images of black smoke and Dean- Dean’s beautiful face twisted into something monstrous and ugly, his eyes blacker than anything he’s ever seen.

 

Then it’s suddenly over and when he finally looks up he sees Dean, and Dean’s eyes are green, a shimmering beautiful green and they’re watery and boring into him with worry. He tries to take another deep breath and his face is abruptly pulled forward, nose shoved into the crook of Dean’s neck, flooding him with the smell of the body wash he had used the night before.

 

Dean holds him silently, and Castiel can feel him taking long breaths, feel his heart hammering against his chest.

 

“What happened?” Dean asks into his hair, arms still wound tightly around him. Castiel is vaguely aware of the big white bags scattered around them, delicate blue sheets spilling out onto the dirty tiles.

 

“There was a woman outside. H-her eyes….I know this is going to sound insane but her eyes they turned black, Dean. I saw them.” Castiel tries to explain, voice muffled by the warm skin of Dean’s neck. Dean’s body goes rigid, and he’s pulling away, turning to grab the bags robotically.

 

“We need to get out of here,” he says, grabbing Castiel’s forearm with his free hand and practically dragging him back outside.

 

“Dean, wait,” Castiel yanks his arm away, freezing just outside the car, eyes sweeping over every inch of Dean’s face. “I-I saw your face. In my head I saw you and you were- your eyes were black and it was hideous and you were surrounded with other black-eyed people and-”

 

“Stop.” Dean’s face is angry, and he shoves the bags into the impala with ridiculous force, slamming the back door shut loudly. Dean climbs in, shooting an angry look at Castiel when he remains outside.

 

“Dean, your face, it was...it was like hers.”

 

“Cas, get in the fucking car, right _NOW_.” After a moment of thought, Castiel obliges, shooting looks halfway between fear and nervousness at the side of Dean’s face. They pull out of the mall hastily, and Castiel can see Dean’s eyes searching for something, drifting left and right every couple of seconds.

 

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, trying to make his voice soft, but Dean’s hands are still gripping the steering wheel with too much force, and his face is still stony. “I’m sorry, I- I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

 

Dean looks at him for a split second, and his anger crumbles; it’s replaced with worry and guilt.

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Cas,” Dean assures him. After a long silence, Dean asks him to tell him exactly what he saw.

 

“There was a woman with a little girl, she was short, blonde hair and I think blue eyes...I didn’t get a good look. One second she turns to look at me and then the next her eyes are black and she smiled at me like…” his voice trails off, a cold shiver running down his spine at the memory of it. Dean waits for him to continue, the car swerving slightly out of its lane from watching Castiel’s face.

 

“She just turned around and left, but I got so scared. I ran back into the mall to find you but then my head, it started hurting so much,” his voice is raspy, his words come slow. “It was so painful. I kept seeing things- people. They all had black eyes...and then I saw you. You were strapped to something, your arms and legs chained up and there was blood everywhere and your eyes were black but your face wasn’t really your face it was-”

 

“Okay, I get it,” Dean cuts him off, and Castiel is thankful he isn’t as angry as before. Dean doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking forward. When they pass the sign that lets them know they’ve crossed back into Lebanon and pull off the freeway, Dean pulls the car over onto the side of a deserted street.

 

Dean turns to him, and Castiel feels the weight of the man’s gaze on him heavily, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

 

“Cas,” he starts, running a hand down his tired face and letting it rest on his knee, “I know you think you know what you saw, but your head isn’t okay right now.” Anger flares up in Castiel’s chest and he clenches his fists in his lap.

 

“Dean, I’m not crazy.” He wants to shout, but he keeps his voice level.

 

“I’m not saying you’re crazy. I’m saying you were in a coma for nine days and you woke up two days ago and your memories are gone, Cas. You’re not in the most mentally stable state of mind at the moment.” Castiel glares at him, and for the first time since he can remember meeting Dean, he’s _really_  angry at the man.

 

“I. know. what. I. saw,” Castiel says through gritted teeth. Dean sits back in his seat, letting his head rest on the worn leather.

 

“Explain to me what you saw then.”

 

“Some demonic creature.”

 

“And my hideous face? With the black eyes? What do you think that was?”

 

“A memory,” he says uncertainly, and Dean can hear his voice falter.

 

“A memory, Cas? You think that woman was a demon and seeing me with a twisted face and black eyes was a MEMORY” Dean feels like an asshole, making Castiel question his sanity when in reality, he hit the nail on the head. Castiel looks down, fidgeting with his hands.

 

“Maybe not,” he mutters, and Dean notices his broken lip for the first time. He sighs, reaching out and touching the side of Castiel’s face. Castiel looks up at him, brows furrowed over his pensive blue eyes.

 

Dean knows he should take his hand off, turn the car back on, and drive home, but he finds his thumb stroking Castiel’s cheek involuntarily. Castiel leans into the touch, his face going soft in Dean’s hand.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over Dean’s wrist and sending a shiver up his arm. Dean remembers the first time they touched like this; it feels like ages ago.

 

It had been in a hospital room, after Castiel had forced him to torture Alastair and it had gone sour. Dean had felt the tears burn his face as he told Castiel to find someone else, that he wasn’t strong enough to stop the apocalypse. Castiel had walked over to his bed, looming over him menacingly, and for a moment Dean had though Castiel would strike him. Instead the angel had lifted a hand and laid it gently on the side of Dean’s face, a gesture that seemed odd and out of place for a creature who was made to follow orders and watch over humanity from a distance.

 

“It has to be you, Dean Winchester.” Dean didn’t meet his eyes, but felt the angel’s thumb wipe away another tear as it had rolled down his face. It had softened something inside of him.

 

“Dean.” Dean breaks out of his reverie, Castiel’s voice bringing him back to the present. Their eyes meet and that ever-present _electricity_  passes between them, bringing their heads together until their foreheads touch. “Are you angry with me?” Castiel asks, and Dean is suddenly aware of the man’s hands on his thigh. His breath catches in his throat, and the hand he had on Castiel’s cheek is suddenly at the nape of his neck, keeping their foreheads pressed together.

 

“No,” Dean breathes, trying to keep his voice even.

 

“I trust you,” Castiel says then, his fingers digging into Dean’s thigh with a shaking hand. “I don’t know why. Can’t remember why. But I do.”

 

Dean’s phone rings between them loudly, making them both jump back in surprise. “That must be Sam,” Dean mutters, feeling his face heat up at the thought of Sam seeing them like this. Castiel watches him pull his phone out, eyes still glued to his face when Dean answers.

 

“Heya Sammy”

 

“ _Hey, so get this. I found a couple of apartments not too far out of Lebanon, if you and Cas aren’t too far I can give you the addresses._ ”

 

“No, you can take him to see them. I have stuff to do.”

 

“ _Is everything okay_?” Sam’s voice is worried, and Dean can picture his face even through the phone. He steals a glance at Castiel, who is still looking at him with flushed cheeks. He swallows with difficulty.

 

“Fine, Sam. We’re almost home, I gotta go.” He hangs up before Sam can argue, and pulls the car back onto the street, driving through the familiar roads that wind through the trees and to the bunker.

 

“Dean-”

 

“Sam is taking you apartment-shopping,” Dean cuts him off, keeping his eyes forward.

 

“How am I supposed to pay for an apartment? I don’t have any money?” Castiel asks, though his mind is still on the previous conversation.

 

“Sam and I will help you find a job. We can pay the first few months until you find something.” Dean’s voice is hard, detached, but Castiel can still see the red on his cheeks.

 

“You and your brother are so kind to me.”

 

“I ain’t gonna tell you again Cas, we’re family. It’s just what family does.”

 

___

 

When Sam and Castiel return from looking at apartments, dinner is still warm on the counter, but the bunker is dim and quiet.

 

“Dean?” Sam calls out, meeting Castiel’s gaze when there’s no response.  “Probably went out to buy beer or something,” Sam explains dismissively, grabbing a plate and pulling it towards him on the counter.

 

“He drinks an unhealthy amount of liquor,” Castiel comments, watching Sam dig into a plate of chicken and mashed potatoes with the appetite of a developing teen.

 

“Yeah, it’s part of the job description,” Sam jokes, his chewing stopping abruptly when he sees Castiel’s questioning look. “We uh, we see some crazy shit.”

 

“Is it really so secretive you can’t even tell me anything about what you do?” Castiel sighs, his curiosity about the Men of Letters still bothering him when he remembers it.

 

Sam looks at him for a long time before he speaks, putting down his fork and knife and swallowing the food in his mouth. “If it were up to me I would tell you, believe me, but Dean really doesn’t want that.”

 

“Why? I thought we were ‘like family’.” Castiel says with a scowl, dragging the tines of his fork through his mashed potatoes dejectedly. Sam’s eyes soften, and the look he gives Castiel makes him feel like a sick puppy.

 

“It’s because he cares about you, Cas. Nowadays, I can’t even tell who he loves more between the two of us.”

 

“Dean loves me?”

 

“Don’t tell him I said that but yeah, of course. You have no idea how much,” Sam assures him, giving him a sincere smile. Castiel feels the bubbling of frustration in his stomach, hearing Sam say _you have no idea how much_  and knowing he really doesn’t, because he can’t remember anything.

 

“I wish I could remember how much,” he mutters, avoiding the pitying look Sam gives him.

 

“I can tell you how much,” Sam offers, giving him another smile. Castiel perks up at this, pushing aside his food and giving Sam his full attention.

 

“Um,” he clears his throat, “one time you and Dean got...kidnapped...and taken to this place really far away. Dean found a way to get back home and instead of leaving, he spent an entire year looking for you. He refused to leave you behind.” Castiel’s eyes widen, staring at Sam in shock.

 

“How did we get kidnapped?”

 

“This guy Dean and I were hunting, he was pretty evil and you and Dean got caught in the aftermath of his demise.” Casteill mulls over this information, feeling himself grow ridiculously giddy at the thought of Dean searching for him for an entire year. _He must really care about me_.

“Dean would do anything for you,” Sam tells him, grabbing his plate of the counter and taking it over to the kitchen sink.

 

“Who gave you the right to talk about me while I’m not here,” Dean is suddenly there, walking into the kitchen with two black bags in his hands, a weary expression on his face.

 

“He was just assuring me of your feelings for me,” Castiel explains, feeling his mood lift at the sight of the man. Dean stops, a hard look on his face as he looks between Sam and Castiel.

 

“What feelings?” He barks, voice growing angry. Castiel is taken by surprise at the hostility, the smile fading from his face. “I don’t have any _feelings_  for you.”

 

“He means I was assuring him you care about him, you jerk,” Sam says through gritted teeth, coming over and yanking the bags out of Dean’s hand with a shake of his head at his brother’s aggression.

 

“Oh,” Dean says, sneaking a glance at Castiel and feeling his heart drop at the hurt expression on his face.

 

“I think I’m going to head to bed now,” Castiel murmurs, leaving the kitchen in silence. When his footsteps die out in the hallway, Sam reaches over and punches Dean on the shoulder.

 

“What the _hell_ , Dean,” he whispers, holding himself back from swinging a second time.

 

“ _Ow_ , what!?” Dean growls, shoving him back and grabbing the pack of beers to put them in the refrigerator.

 

“You hurt him, that’s what!” Sam hisses, slamming the fridge door shut and forcing Dean to look at him. “You wanna isolate him from the truth because you wanna _protect_ him, but hurting him like that is okay? What is _wrong_  with you?!”

 

“Why are you so worked up about it? Since when are you and Cas bff’s?” Dean hisses back. That earns him another blow to the chest.

 

“Just because I’m not in love with him like you are doesn’t mean I don’t _care_  about him Dean, he’s family to me too. So you better go in there and fucking apologize for being such a gigantic dick,” Sam’s voice grows louder.

 

“I’m not in love with him, will you stop with that shit!”

 

“JUST GO APOLOGIZE DEAN.” They glare at each other until Dean lets out an angry huff of breath and turns on his heels out of the kitchen. He freezes with his hand on the doorknob, heart pounding in his chest at the thought of finding Castiel crying or something. When he finally pushes the door open, Castiel is laying on his side, back to the door.

 

“Cas, you asleep?” Dean asks, coming into the bedroom and closing the door behind him. The room falls into complete darkness, and he makes his way to the bed with cautious footsteps, settling down on the edge of it when his knees make contact with the mattress. Castiel is silent, but Dean can hear his breath and knows he’s still conscious.

 

“Look man,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment as if the other man could see him, “I didn’t mean to be like that out there.” Castiel still doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak, just lays still, so Dean lets out a tired sigh. “I’ve had a long day,” he tries again, tentatively bringing a hand and laying it on what he thinks is Castiel’s arm, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Castiel’s forearm is soft beneath his fingers, and he finds himself dragging his hand up the smooth skin, feeling goosebump rise underneath his hand.

 

“Sam told me you spent a year searching for me when we got kidnapped. That you didn’t wanna leave without me,” Castiel finally speaks, his words soft in the quiet of the room.

 

“Yeah, Cas. When we ended up there- kidnapped I mean, when we got kidnapped- I couldn’t bear to leave you behind,” Dean confirms, his fingers still ghosting over Castiel’s skin. The man moves suddenly, and Dean can feel him turning beneath his hands, his face practically impossible to see in the darkness. He feels hands twist into the fabric of his flannel, pulling him down, and suddenly Castiel’s arms are warm around him, the man’s breath on his neck.

 

Dean’s mind flashes back to the night he and Castiel spent at a motel near the Gas-N-Sip he had been working at, the night they killed the angel in Nora’s house. Castiel had gotten up in the middle of the night and Dean found himself wrapped in his arms, his face burrowed into Castiel’s chest as the man cried, his sobs silent on top of Dean’s hair.

 

“ _It's so hard, Dean. It's so hard to be human. And I miss you all the time_ ,” he had cried, his arms tightening around Dean, a hand coming up to thread through his hair. Dean had been conflicted, half of him wanting to push Castiel away and tell him he was crossing a boundary, and the other half wanting to pull him closer, to tell him he was sorry, that he shouldn’t have kicked him out. Instead he had remained silent, letting Castiel cry, his hands caressing Dean’s hair and back with a gentleness and emotion Dean had never felt in the touch of a woman before.

 

“I have something for you,” Dean says now, pulling himself out of Castiel’s grip and helping him up. He crosses the room and pulls the door open, watching Castiel squint at the light. They walk to the door opposite of his own, and when he pushes it open, he hears Castiel’s breath catch. He reaches out and grabs a hold of Castiel’s hand gently, pulling him into the room.

 

Castiel’s eyes sweep over the big bed with the soft blue sheets he had seen spilling out of the bag in the mall. The closet door is ajar and he can see all the clothes and shoes he picked out organized neatly inside.

 

“Is this…?” he doesn’t dare to finish the question, thinking it too good to be true.

 

“It’s only temporary,” Dean says, and a flash of disappointment crosses Castiel’s face, “but it’s yours.”

 

“Thank you,” he says anyways, turning to look at Dean with a sincere expression of gratitude on his face. His lips twitch up into a smile and Dean has the sudden urge to lean forward and just- “you didn’t have to buy new sheets.”

 

Dean can feel himself blush, an embarrassed laugh leaving his throat. “I didn’t wanna dig up those old sheets downstairs, and besides, when you move into your own apartment you can take these with you. They’re really soft and warm.” Castiel walks over to the bed, letting his hand sink into the fluffy blue sheets.

 

“They are very soft. Thank you Dean,” Castiel says again, turning back to him with an even bigger smile.

 

“Yeah y-you're welcome, Cas,” he mutters. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to bed.” Before he can pull the door open, Castiel’s arms wind around him from behind, and he can feel the man’s nose press into the back of his neck.

 

“You sure do like to hug me,” Dean says jokingly, placing a hand over Castiel on his stomach to pull it off, but finds himself letting it rest there.

 

“It feels very normal. Do we usually hug a lot?” Castiel asks, and Dean can feel his smile without having to see it.

 

“No, actually, we don’t hug at all.” Castiel is silent for a moment, then one of his hands move up, stroking against Dean’s stomach softly.

 

“That’s strange. This feels so...normal. Like my body has done it a million times.” Finally he lets go, letting Dean turn around to look at him. As much as Dean wants to push the thought away, truth is that having Castiel touch him that way has always felt nice. Comforting. Homey.

 

“Maybe in your dreams,” Dean jokes, winking at him playfully, but Castiel’s cheeks heat and he lets out a soft, embarrassed laugh.

 

“Maybe.” Dean pats his shoulder amicably, finally pulling the door open.

 

“Goodnight, Cas.”

 

“Sleep well, Dean.”

___

_That night, Castiel finds himself in a forest, surrounded by vicious eyes, staring at him, calculating, waiting. The stench of blood and rotting flesh is everywhere, but then there’s Dean, walking beside him, reaching out when he stumbles, his hand resting in his, until a another man walking ahead of them turns around and shoots them suspicious looks._

 

_“You two lovebirds need to hurry it up back there,” he says in a long southern drawl, a teasing smile on his lips._

_“Dean and I are not birds,” Castiel finds himself saying, confused, but then Dean is laughing beside him, his hand on Castiel’s back, soft and loving. He looks at him, green eyes sparkling in the light coming down between the trees._

_When they stop to rest for the night, Dean finds his hand again, pulling him through the trees, farther away from the other man, yanking him down onto the damp grass beneath their muddy shoes. After what seems like hours of laying back to back, Dean turns, pulling Castiel around. They stare at each other in the dimness of the night, the moon shooting delicate beams of light through the tree branches. Dean’s hands find his face, bringing him forward and smashing their lips together, mouth fervent on his, as if he’s going to disappear any moment._

_“We can’t keep doing this,” he murmurs between kisses, hands sliding under Castiel’s dirty white shirt, fingers skimming over unwashed skin._ You started this _, Castiel thinks, his hands tightening on the front of Dean’s shirt, pulling the man closer until their bodies are flush against each other._

_“When we get back,” Deans says, nuzzling the crook of Castiel’s neck, pressing a damp kiss on the skin there, “this has to stop.”_

  
_“Of course. Always as you wish, Dean.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is leaning forward, face suddenly serious and flushed. There’s a split second where Dean almost reaches out and pulls him in, almost revels in the taste that he’s already forgotten.
> 
>  
> 
> “No,” he breathes instead, and Castiel freezes, just centimeters from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick, horribly edited update.
> 
> Thanks to those of you who leave comments, it really encourages me to keep writing, and also thanks to my silent readers, I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far.
> 
> As always, I sincerely apologize for all the mistakes.

“I had a strange dream last night” Castiel says after lunch. He’s sitting in the garage with Dean, watching him roll around under the impala, fixing something with a far too complicated name for him to understand.

“More leaf-raking?” Dean asks jokingly, and all Castiel can see of him is his legs sticking out from under the car.

“No, not this time,” Castiel replies, and he’s suddenly unsure whether telling Dean about the dream is a good idea.

“What was it this time?” He keeps working, unaware of Castiel’s hesitant silence.

“We were lost in a forest,” he begins slowly, wishing he could see Dean’s face. “You and me, and a big burly man. Benny, I think his name was.” Dean’s legs freeze, and Castiel hears the muted clang of a metal wrench hitting the asphalt. Dean says nothing, so Castiel continues, “We walked for days, trying to find a portal to get back to earth. It smelled of rotting flesh and death, and we kept having to kill people. Except they weren’t really people, but these weird creatures whose mouths opened and took up their entire faces-” he stops abruptly, jumping back in surprise when Dean rolls out from under the impala.

His face has a grim expression, hands balled into white-knuckled fists. “That’s not a dream, Cas, that’s a nightmare,” he says, voice sounding far away.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Cas mumbles, feeling a blush creeping up his neck. A stolen glance at Dean’s face shows his cheeks reddening too, and Castiel feels like the man can read his mind.

“I don’t want to know what that’s supposed to mean,” Dean grumbles, pushing himself up and wiping his hands on a dirty rag sitting on the hood of the impala.

“I didn’t want to leave. When we found the portal to get home, I let you go through, but I stayed behind. I felt like my heart was shattering when I let go of your hand. Then I woke up,” Castiel finishes, catching the pained expression Dean gives him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he responds, turning to bend and gather the tools and toolbox off the ground.

Castiel follows him back inside silently, watching the curve of his biceps as he shoves the toolbox back into a dusty utility closet in the hallway.

Sam is rummaging around the kitchen when they enter, a packed duffel bag sitting on the counter next to two guns and a knife. Castiel stares at the weapons with a jab of recognition, a dull throb starting in the back of his head.  
“Whoa, where are you going?” Dean asks, walking over to the refrigerator and pulling out a beer, holding one out for Castiel, who shakes his head at the offer.

“Got a case down in Texas,” Sam replies, shoving one of the guns into the inside of his jacket, and the other two weapons into a pocket in the duffel.

“And you’re gonna go by yourself?” Dean asks incredulously, holding his beer halfway to his mouth.

“I can handle it, s’just a quick salt-n-burn.” Dean’s eyes widen at this, and they both turn to look at Castiel with nervous expressions. Castiel cocks his head to the side.

“Salt and burn? That doesn’t sound psychotic at all,” he mutters sarcastically, pushing past Dean to grab a glass of water. Sam laughs nervously, hefting the duffle bag strap onto his shoulder.

“Sorry that we have such a sketchy day job,” he half jokes, sweeping his eyes over the room one last time in case he’s forgotten anything. “I should be back in two or three days.”

“You call me if anything gets ugly, you hear?” Dean says, giving him a serious look. Sam nods, and for a moment, Castiel thinks Dean almost sounds like a parent. “Be careful. Call me when you pull into a motel for the night.”

“Yeah, I will, Dean. See you guys, bye Cas,” he gives a final wave before leaving.

 

Castiel sits at the kitchen counter and reads while Dean starts on dinner, looking up from Cat’s Cradle every once in a while, eyes following the movement of Dean’s back.

“Oh, by the way, Sam told me that one of the real estate ladies called this morning about an apartment you saw. Something about you being pre-approved and that you can start the next application process,” Dean comments as he folds spices into a bowl of ground beef. Castiel watches his fingers disappear into the squishy meat distractedly, fumbling with the corner of his book page.

“So I can move out soon,” he says finally, and something in his voice makes Dean stop what he’s doing and look up at him.

“Yeah. Why do you sound like that?” he asks, and Castiel is aware that he’s holding all of Dean’s attention.

“It’s nothing, just, you know. After waking up with no memories, this has been the only thing I’ve gotten to know well over the last couple of days. It’s going to feel strange having to relocate,” Castiel explains, dropping his gaze to the withering pages of the book. He had found it in Dean’s room when he went to bed the night he tried finding the bedsheets, and had been drawn in immediately. Dean had made no comment upon seeing him reading it.

“I know it’s gonna be a little hard, Cas, and I’m sorry. But Sam and I won’t be far, and we can drive over anytime something comes up,” Dean assures him, giving him a sincere smile. Castiel returns it reluctantly.

“Why can’t I just stay here,” he mumbles, and he’s not sure if he wants Dean to hear it or not, but he does. His smile fades almost instantly, that pained look he had given him in the garage returning.

“Cas…” he pulls his hands out of the bowl, wiping them on a rag before walking over to stand on the other side of the counter in front of him. “Listen,” he starts, raking a hand through his neat hair, “I wish you could stay here. Believe me, having you close makes me so happy.” At this, Castiel feels a flutter in his stomach, and he can’t help the small smile on his lips.

“Then why can’t I?” he asks, though he knows nothing he says will convince Dean to let him stay.

“Because it’s dangerous, okay?” Dean’s voice grows slightly louder hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Do you know how much Sam and I have fucked with your life already? I don’t wanna keep doing that.”

“I don’t know, actually,” Castiel responds, “because I don’t remember anything. But I can tell you what I _do_ know. I know that if I’ve stuck around this long despite having been stabbed by you, and my life having been ‘fucked with’ it’s because what I feel for you two is very strong. Sometimes I get these little flashes of images, of you, or of Sam, or of the three of us, and they make me happy, Dean. You and Sam make me happy.”

Dean is silent, eyes wide in surprise. “I-I know, Cas. But here’s the thing, man. Sam and I care about you a lot. Like I said before, we’re family. That means the last thing we want is for you to get hurt. Being around us, it’s a recipe for disaster.” Castiel meets his eyes, taking in that sparkling green, remembering how those eyes had traced over his naked body the night before.

“If you want me to go, I will,” Castiel says finally, and he can see the hurt flash across Dean’s face.

“I don’t want you to go, Cas. I want you to be safe, and that means being away from here.”

“Away from you, you mean.”

“Yeah. Away from me.” Dean nods, turning back to keep seasoning the meat

“Of course. Always as you wish, Dean.” Dean freezes, hand stilling in the bowl.

“W-what did you say?” he asks, though he remains with his back turned.

“I said, always as you wish, Dean. Is there something wrong with that?” Castiel asks innocently, though his heart is hammering in his chest. _He knows_. _He remembers that_ Castiel thinks, _it was real then. It was a memory._

“Where did you hear that?” He turns around now, and Castiel sees his eyes have watered, that there are tears threatening to spill and there’s a vulnerability in them that seems almost out of place with Dean’s usually gruff demeanor. I’m hurting him

“Nowhere. Just a phrase, Dean,” Castiel replies, shrugging nonchalantly and trying to hide his nerves. Dean is still looking at him though, and for a moment Castiel thinks he really will cry, but then he turns back to preparing dinner and they don’t speak for the rest of the night.

Dean eats in his room and Castiel remains in the kitchen, taking bites of his burger while he reads, trying hard not to think about what had just happened. He knocks on Dean’s door before he retreats to his own room, calling out a soft “sleep well, Dean,” and getting silence in return.

 

 

 

 

 

 

___

When Sam returns four days later, there’s a badly stitched gash up his forearm and his cheek is badly bruised. Castiel can hear a muffled argument he and Dean have in Sam’s room, until something hits the floor with a loud crash and their voices grow softer. Castiel and Dean have barely spoken, and Sam can see the tension between them immediately.

“What happened?” he asks over dinner the night he gets back, looking between Dean and Castiel and waiting for one of them to speak. Castiel exchanges a look with Dean, and suddenly he can’t even remember why they’d stopped speaking. Dean shrugs, twirling his fork into the spaghetti and shoving it into his mouth, too preoccupied with chewing to talk.

“It’s not important,” Castiel finally says, wiping sauce off the side of his mouth.

“Well you two don’t seem to be speaking to each other, so it clearly is,” Sam argues, still looking between them,

“Cool it Dr.Phil, everything is fine,” Dean finally grumbles, scraping the last of his spaghetti into a small pile on his plate and nudging it onto his fork with a finger. Sam narrows his eyes suspiciously, still unconvinced, but let’s it go after getting nothing but continued silence from both of them.

“So Cas, have you been working on the rest of the applications for the apartment?” Sam asks before putting a heaping forkful of food into his mouth.

“No, Dean gave me the forms but I don’t know any of the information to fill them out with,” Castiel responds, shooting Dean an annoyed look. He had dropped the application on the counter in front of him while he’d been sitting in the kitchen reading and left him to it, as if he had any idea how to fill it out on his own. Sam glares at Dean along with Castiel, shaking his head at his brother.

“Well I’ll help you with them. I actually was able to get all of your documents remade, so I’ll give those to you too. If we get the applications all done today, we can go see the real estate lady again tomorrow and finalize everything,” Sam offers with a smile, and Castiel realizes how much he’s missed the ease of talking to Sam. Everything with Dean was so suffocatingly difficult. Talking to Sam was like a breath of fresh air.

“Thank you, Sam, I really appreciate your help,” Castiel says with a smile, pointedly ignoring Dean’s eyeroll. “The sooner I’m out of here, the better,” he adds as an afterthought, taking pleasure in the surprised look Dean gives him. _You’re acting like a child_ he thinks to himself, but he’s too stubborn to care.

After dinner he goes to Sam’s room and they sit on his bed and go over the endless pages he needs to fill out.

“Castiel Novak,” Castiel reads out loud when Sam hands him an envelope with all of his legal documents and two credit cards. “I didn’t even realize I didn’t know my own last name until now,” Castiel chuckles, putting the documents back into the envelope and setting it down beside him gently. Sam chuckles too, without looking up from the page he’s filling out.

“Okay,” he says after an hour of writing into boxes and turning the page for Castiel to sign his name on indicated lines, “all that’s left is for me or Dean to fill in a guarantor form.”

“What is that?” Castiel asks, head tilting to the side in curiosity.

“It just means that we’re the ones supplying an income. Since you don’t have a job, they need to verify that you’ll be able to afford the place, so one of us can serve as the person who guarantees the money for the apartment,” Sam explains, putting the papers in order and pulling out the last sheet. “Here,” he says, holding it out to Castiel, “Dean can be your guarantor.”

“No, you do it,” Castiel argues, hating the thought of Dean turning him away if he were to ask. Sam gives him a worried look, and for a moment he thinks Sam is going to ask about what happened again, but he just sighs, putting the sheet with the rest of the papers.

“I won’t,” he tells Castiel, “but I’ll ask him to fill it out if you really don’t want to.” Castiel gives him a thankful smile, and when they have all the papers put away, Sam let’s him stay on his bed for a little while more. He tells him a story about the first time he got drunk in college, a long night that ended up with him being dared to kiss a pretty blonde girl that turned out to be the love of his life.

“If she’s the love of your life, where is she?” Castiel asks, still smiling from having laughed so hard at Sam’s exaggerated storytelling. Sam’s smile falters, and Castiel can feel he stepped over a line.

“She died. In a fire.”

“Oh, Sam,” Castiel is at a loss for words, leaning over and placing a gentle hand on Sam’s shoulder, “I’m so sorry.” Sam shrugs, but Castiel can see his nose reddening from oncoming tears.

“You’d think that after ten years I’d be over it but,” he sniffles, palming his eyes to wipe away at the wetness there, “it never stops hurting.” Castiel hugs him, and he’s painfully aware of the difference that he feels when he holds Sam than when he holds Dean. When he lets go Sam gives him a small smile, patting his back with his big, gentle hands.

“We should get to bed,” he comments, and Castiel nods, noting the 12:46 flashing on Sam’s bedside clock.

“Yes, that’s right. Goodnight, Sam.”

“Night, Cas. Thanks for listening to all that.” Castiel nods, giving his shoulder one last gentle squeeze before turning to leave. He stops in front of Dean’s door, hand itching to push it open and say something to Dean; anything. He can’t take the tension between them anymore. As if on cue, the door swings open and Dean is suddenly there, freezing at the sight of Castiel. Neither of them speaks, until Dean clears his throat and pushes past him to head towards the bathroom.

“Dean,” Castiel blurts out, and for a sickening moment he thinks Dean will ignore him, that he’ll keep on walking pretending he hadn’t heard a thing, but he doesn’t. He turns around, eyebrows raised in question.

“I, uh, wanted to say thank you. For dinner, that is. For cooking dinner. And not just today. Everyday. Everyday dinner is very delicious, Dean. You’re a very good cook, you-” he bites down on his lip, keeping the rest of his rambling in his mouth. To surprise, Dean’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile.

“Glad you enjoy it,” he responds, turning to continue into the bathroom.

“Sleep well, Dean!” he calls out to Dean’s retreating form.

“Goodnight, Cas,” he hears as the bathroom door clicks shut.

 

Castiel dreams of Dean. He dreams of Dean’s laughter, of his smile, of his voice. He dreams of Dean reaching for him, pulling him by the shoulder, by the forearm, by the hand, with a touch on the small of his back. He dreams of Dean screaming, face red, fists tight, words angry. He dreams of Dean crying, tears rolling down his cheeks, face pained, shoulders tense. He dreams of Dean’s touch, friendly arm around his shoulders, worried hands dragging down his chest, tentative fingers popping open shirt buttons. He dreams of Dean’s kisses. The first one angry and violent, against the wall of a dark alley, a look of disgust and regret on his face. The second one is impulsive, his fists buried in the lapels of a tan coat. The third one is hasty, desperate, pushing him back against a tree, that rotting smell surrounding them. The last one is gentle, soft, Dean’s fingers delicate on his overgrown facial hair, holding his body against the bathroom wall tenderly, the stench of that place still trapped in every pore of his skin.

When he wakes up, he feels a dull throbbing, both in the back of his head, and between his legs. He reaches down, brushing a hand over the hardness there experimentally, breath catching in his throat. His fingers find the waistband of his boxers and he pushes past the rough elastic, suddenly desperate for release. It doesn’t take long, his hand gripping himself tight, fist moving from the base to the tip in hurried strokes. He thinks of Dean pushing him down into dirty soil, of Dean’s hands trailing down his heated skin, of Dean’s mouth whispering _fuck, Cas. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long._ between sloppy kisses on his chest. When he comes, his back arches of the mattress, a strangled moan leaving his lips against his will.

He sneaks into the bathroom before anyone is up, and by the time he’s done washing away the come and sweat off his body, the smell of coffee is wafting through the hallway.

“Mornin’” Dean says to him when he walks into the kitchen, and Castiel is surprised to hear him speaking to him after days of tense silence.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel replies, irrationally happy all of a sudden. When he sits down at the counter, he sees the guarantor form laying in his usual spot, completely filled out and messily signed Dean Winchester at the bottom.

“Thank you,” Castiel says to Dean’s back, and instead of saying anything in return, Dean shoots him a smile. Castiel’s heart jumps in his chest.

“So Sammy’s going with you to see that apartment lady today, and while you guys are gone I’m gonna get some applications for jobs around the neighborhood you’re moving to. Any specific place you wanna work at?” Dean asks, pulling a pan out of a bottom cupboard and setting in on the stove to heat up.

“Something with books,” Castiel says without pause, glancing at 1984 sitting on the corner of the counter where he’d left it the evening before.

“Books, huh,” Dean comments, swirling a ladle through the contents of the bowl and pouring what looks like pancake batter onto the pan.

“Yes, I quite enjoy reading. I’ve finished all the books that were in your room and three books Sam recommended. Dean snickers, looking up from the solidifying pancake to give him a teasing look.

“Once a nerd, always a nerd, I guess,” he jokes, and Castiel’s heart swells with joy at having the tension gone from between them.

“I know that you are trying to insult me, but since the word ‘nerd’ implies someone is smart, I’m actually the opposite of offended,” Castiel says, smiling at the expected laugh that leaves Dean. He flips the pancake, meeting his eyes and laughing again.

“Well,” he says after the their laughter has died down, “lets get you an application to work at the library, or see if we can find any bookstores that are hiring,” he suggests, sliding the pancake out of the pan and onto a clean plate.

“Yes, I would very much like that.”

Sam wakes up a while after that and they eat breakfast in amicable silence, Sam scrolling through news articles on his laptop, Castiel reading his book, and Dean tapping away on his phone screen. Castiel and Dean’s eyes meet once, when they’re both putting a forkful of pancakes into their mouths at the same time, and Castiel’s face heats as he remembers what he’d done that morning to thoughts of Dean. Dean’s brows furrow for a second, but his eyes flick back to his phone screen after a moment.

He goes into town with Sam in the afternoon, and they take what Dean assures him is his own car, a clunky beige thing that Castiel could never picture himself picking out in a million years. They meet with the real estate lady, whose name is actually Emily Scott, and turns out to be a wonderfully pleasant woman. She tells them she’ll review his application, but that she’s almost completely positive the apartment is his. They stop for frozen yogurt on the way back, and Castiel laughs when Sam tells him Dean calls it a pathetic attempt at health-ifying ice cream. When they climb back into the car Sam asks him if he remembers how to drive, and hands over the key. It’s a bumpy ride the first few minutes, but the maneuvering comes back to Castiel as if he’d never forgotten.

They find the bunker empty and Sam lets him hang out in his room again, letting Castiel sort through his impressive collection of paperbacks in a box beneath his bed. Dean gets back a couple of hours later and finds Castiel still in Sam’s room, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed and a thick book in his hands. Sam is asleep, tv remote tucked under his arm and some crappy reality tv show playing on mute.

“Hey, got some job applications for you,” he whispers with his head poked into the crack of the door. Castiel jumps in surprise, scowling at Dean’s muffled laugh. They fill them out one by one over beers and store-bought blueberry pie Dean had gotten on the way back. Three of the papers are local library applications and four of them are for little bookstores scattered not too far away. One of them is for a convenience store, which Castiel refuses to fill out despite Dean teasingly insisting.

“I’ll mail these out tomorrow,” Dean says when they finally finish, straightening the papers against the countertop and setting them aside. He casts a long sideways look at Castiel, his pants tightening at the sight of Castiel’s tongue darting out and licking dew drops off the rim of his beer bottle.

“That sounds fine, thank you,” Castiel says after a long gulp, turning to meet Dean’s eyes. There’s an eyelash on his cheek, and before Dean can think about it, his hand is reaching out to pluck it off. Castiel’s breath comes out warm onto his hand, and if he thought his crotch was getting tight before, it’s nothing compared to the heat there now. Castiel is leaning forward, face suddenly serious and flushed. There’s a split second where Dean almost reaches out and pulls him in, almost revels in the taste that he’s already forgotten.

“No,” he breathes instead, and Castiel freezes, just centimeters from his face.

“W-what?” he asks, his voice is unsure and fragile.

Dean remembers the first time their lips met, up against that dirty alleyway where Castiel had beaten him to a bloody pulp then taken the pain away with a touch to his skin. Dean had been scared, so scared, heart seeming to beat in his throat, and Castiel was glaring at him with furious eyes. He hadn’t thought it through, just switched their positions, pressing a literal angel of the lord up against dirty bricks, and brought his mouth down onto his with uncontrollable anger. Castiel’s lips had been still at first, surprised, but then they were moving against his, hard and wanting, and Dean hadn’t known angels could be passionate that way. When he’d pulled away he felt disgusted, felt sinful and wrong looking at Castiel’s face torn between confusion, lust, and amazement, the anger completely gone. He had never brought it up again.  
Dean looks at him now and realizes Castiel has always been that way; doing everything the way Dean wants. If Dean pushes him, Castiel goes. If Dean pulls him in, Castiel comes.

“No. We’re not doing this,” Dean breathes, waiting for the hurt to flash across Castiel’s face. Instead he nods, swallowing down something in his throat, and leans away, reaching for his beer to take another long gulp. “I don’t know what you think is going on here,” Dean continues, taking Castiel’s lack of emotion as a good thing, “but whatever you think, you’re probably wrong.” Castiel doesn’t look at him, just absently traces swirls into the condensation on his bottle. “You and I- we’re-”

“I get it, Dean. I’ve always gotten it,” he says, and his voice comes out far harsher than the expression on his face.

“No,” Dean insist, willing Castiel to meet his eyes, “you don’t. You don’t remember enough to ‘get it.’” Castiel does meet his eyes now, and Dean is surprised by the softness there.

“I don’t need memories to understand.” Dean can hear the hurt now. He can hear it just like the countless times Castiel has breathed _please_ into his neck desperately, fingers digging into his shirt anxiously, clutching onto him as if he’d die if he let go. _Please, Dean, just one more kiss, one last one. One more and it’ll be over. One more and- please. Dean, please, just one_

“I’m sorry,” Dean says now, and he hopes Castiel can hear the sincerity. “I know that doesn’t change anything, but I am.”

Castiel doesn’t respond, just slides off the stool and leaves the kitchen, leaving behind his beer half empty and a deafening silence that makes Dean’s skin crawl and tears prick his eyes.

When he lies awake in bed that night, Dean thinks of purgatory. He lets himself think of things he’d swore he’d never voluntarily remember again. He lets himself remember Castiel’s _I love you, Dean_ the last night they spent there. _Whatever happens when we get out of here, please don’t forget that. I have loved you from the very start, and will love you until the very end_ murmured into his ear _._ Dean had snickered at the cheesiness of it, lost in the pleasure of having Castiel pushing into him, but there was something different that last time. Castiel had been the most gentle, the most tender he’s ever felt him. He had kissed down Dean’s body, whispering _I love you_ ’s into every inch of his skin. He had held him so tightly as he rocked into him, the desperation and heat of every other time they’d done that completely absent. _Promise me, Dean_ , he had whispered, his hips stopping, shaking fingers curving around the nape of Dean’s neck _promise me you’ll remember. There’s nothing more important to me than my love for you._ _Yeah, Cas,_ Dean remembers having answered, hungry for Castiel to start moving again, longing to be filled. _You love me, I won’t forget that._

Dean turns and buries his face into his pillow, letting the tears spill into the softness there. He did forget though, he realizes. Memories or no memories, that doesn’t change Castiel’s feelings.

Castiel, who had slayed his brothers and sisters to save him. Castiel who had been brainwashed to kill him but still couldn’t do it. Castiel who had given up an army for him.

Castiel who had remained silent when he told him he didn’t want to touch him anymore. Castiel who, no matter how many times Dean stepped on his heart and sent him away, always seems to find tenderness for him.

How could he have been so stupid to think losing his memories would change anything. Castiel loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to get a lot of writing done in the next couple of days since the weekend is coming up.
> 
> Also, if you guys ever wanna say hi or anything, you can reach me on tumblr [here](http://www.i--miss-my-wings.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It didn’t mean anything, Cas! It was just sex!” A deafening silence falls between them.
> 
>  
> 
> “So is that how you feel? You kiss me and fuck me, but it’s all just meaningless to you?” Castiel’s voice breaks, and Dean can tell how hard it is for him to get the words out.

Castiel moves out on a rainy Saturday. Sam helps him move three small boxes with his clothes, books, and sheets into the trunk of the lincoln while Dean watches from the entryway of the garage.

 

“I think that’s everything,” Castiel says, sticking his hand into his pocket and pulling out his car keys. He and Sam exchange a long look, and then Sam is pulling him into a hug, long arms engulfing Castiel’s body.

 

“The bunker’s gonna feel empty without you,” Sam tells him, giving him a sad smile.

 

“Not like I was here for long.”

 

“Still. Hey, if you need _anything_ , you call us, got it?”

 

“Yes, Sam, thank you,” Castiel nods, feeling his insides twisting at the thought of being on his own. He had been shuffling around in his room, packing things as slowly as possible to avoid this moment.

 

Finally, he sees Dean walking over to them, hands shoved into the pockets of his robe. Sam walks out of the garage, giving Castiel a final wave.

 

“Well, time for you to spread your wings, little caterpillar,” Dean jokes, a forced smile pulling at his lips. Castiel tries to return it, but finds his mouth curving into a frown.

 

“Yes, I’ll finally be out of your bunker,” Castiel says, and he doesn’t mean for it to sound resentful, but that’s the way it comes out. He wants to lean in and pull Dean into a bone-crushing hug, but his shoulders become tense instead. Dean flinches back, as if Castiel had physically hit him, and it’s only then that Castiel notices the deep shadows beneath his eyes.

 

“Cas, listen,” Dean starts, and Castiel has never heard his voice so tired, “we can’t keep straining our relationship like this, okay? You’re my best friend and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, so whatever it is that’s happening here,” he says, gesturing at the space between them, “please, let it end now.”

 

Castiel is silent, and some pathetic part of Dean’s mind thinks he’s going to just get in his car and drive away, but then Castiel is wrapping his arms around him, and Dean can feel him nodding against his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, arms tightening, “yeah, Dean, I don’t want to be mad.” Neither of them knows how long they stand there like that, or who pulls away first, but then Castiel is driving out of the garage and Dean is watching the car disappear into the distance.

 

The drive only takes half an hour, which Castiel is thankful for; anything farther and his nerves would have driven him off the road. He parks on the street, grabbing his box of clothes out of the trunk first and locking the lincoln while he takes it inside. The apartment building is nice, not too old, not too modern. Its got a wide open lobby with a wall of mailboxes to the left and two small benches to the right. Castiel presses the elevator button, taking in the surroundings as he waits. The walls are painted a bright white with few chipping here and there, and the elevator doors are shiny, as if they’d just been replaced.

 

When it dings open he steps inside, pushing the 4th floor button and noticing the building goes all the way up to 8 floors. When the elevator lets him out on his floor, he suddenly remembers why he’d liked this place so much; the hallway walls have the same brick pattern as the bunker, giving Castiel a sense of familiarity and comfort. When he unlocks the door to 4D and steps inside, he’s welcomed with the coldness of an uninhabited apartment and the brand new furniture Sam had helped him buy and move in a couple of weeks ago. He sets the box by the front door and wanders over to the kitchen, pulling open the white door of the refrigerator and staring at the lone water pitcher sitting on the top rack.

 

The apartment is tiny, and it doesn’t take him long to walk throughout and familiarize himself with it. The living room is right next to the kitchen, mostly empty save for a brown couch, a small coffee table and a TV mounted on the wall. Sam had bought him two stools for the kitchen counter, since there was no room for a dining table. The living room had one door on the far left that lead into the only room, a puny thing with only enough room for a bed and a small bedside table. After getting all his things up to the apartment and unpacking what little he has, he settles down on the couch and turns on the TV, tuning into some wildlife program about the mating habits of tropical birds. It isn’t until there’s a loud knock on his door that he manages to look away.

 

He’s not sure whether he should be afraid, but he grabs a knife out of one of the kitchen drawers and pulls the door open with caution.

 

“Dean?” he asks, cocking his head and letting his knife-wielding arm drop to his side as he lets the door open all the way.

 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean smiles, wandering in nervously.

 

“What are you doing here, I left the bunker an hour and a half ago,” Castiel asks.

 

“Yeah, I just forgot to give you this before you left,” he hufs a small laugh and holds his hand out to Castiel. He looks down and sees a black phone similar to Sam and Dean’s resting on Dean’s palm.

 

“Is this...for me?” He asks, taking it from his hand unsurely.

 

“Yeah, Cas, its for you. I figured since you’re gonna be here now, we’re gonna need a way to communicate,” Dean explains, his stomach twisting as Castiel’s lips pull up into a smile.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” he says, and his words feel warm on his skin. “Is that all you came for, or would you like to stay a while?”

 

“Yeah, sure, I wouldn’t mind that,” Dean smiles back, and that’s how he finds himself on Castiel’s couch watching the Discovery Channel a few minutes later.

 

“Oh, I completely forgot to tell you!” Dean exclaims during a commercial break, turning to Castiel with a huge grin on his face. “The library called about your application and asked if you would go in for an interview.”

 

“Really?!” Castiel is grinning too now, “that’s great, Dean!” Dean laughs at his excitement.

 

“Now I know you can be awkward around people, but it’s impossible not to like you, so you should be fine,” Dean says, his full attention on Castiel now, tropical birds forgotten.

 

“Did you like me when we first met?” Castiel asks suddenly, a curious expression on his face.

 

“Not really, Cas. I mean, I stabbed you,” he laughs, and to his surprise, Castiel chuckles too.

 

“Well, if we’d met at a bar or something, then?” Castiel pushes on.

 

“Definitely,” he nods, and Castiel smiles.

 

“When is the interview?”

 

“I told her you were interested and that you would call her back, I already put her number in your cell,” Dean explains. As if realizing his cellphone is in his pocket for the first time, he pulls it out and begins to thumb through it.

 

“Dean, Sam, Library Lady, Garth- who’s Garth?” Castiel asks.

 

“He’s a close friend of me and Sam's. If anything happens to us, or you’re ever in some kind of problem and can’t reach us, Garth will help you out,” Dean replies, uncomfortable at the thought of dying with Castiel still lost like this.

 

“What do you mean ‘if anything happens to you’? What could possibly happen to you?” Castiel’s voice sounds scared now, and Dean wishes he could lie and tell him it wasn’t likely.

 

“Cas, you know Sam and I don’t do the safest work. Everytime we go out, there’s a high chance we won’t be coming back. The chances of us getting killed are probably like 70%” Castiel is silent, thumb moving across his phone screen robotically.

 

“Get a different job,” he mumbles, feeling tears prick his eyes at the thought of losing either one of them.

 

“Hey,” Dean says softly, and suddenly he’s in Castiel’s space, tilting his face up with gentle hands, “don’t think about that. Our lives may be threatened everyday, but Sammy and I are _damn_ good at what we do, I swear. We’ve been doing this all our lives.” Dean’s words are reassuring, so Castiel nods, meeting Dean’s eyes briefly. His brows are furrowed down and there’s that concerned look he gets on his face whenever he thinks Castiel is hurting. Dean’s hands fall from his face, and they go back to watching TV. When the program ends, Dean gets up and stretches, patting his pockets to make sure he’s got everything.

 

“Well, I better head back, told Sammy I wouldn’t be gone too long,” he says.

 

“Okay, I’ll see you...soon?” Castiel says uncertainly, pushing himself off the couch.

 

“Yeah, Cas, soon.” Dean smiles at him. Castiel walks him to the door, which is really only a few steps away, and takes Dean’s soft touch to his shoulder as goodbye.

___

The days pass unbearably slow in his new apartment, each one beginning and ending exactly the same way, day after day after day. He calls the library lady back, whose name he changes on his phone to Libby Simons, and schedules a day to go meet her.

 

Dean comes over the morning of his interview and brings him coffee and those homemade blueberry pancakes Castiel loves so much. He drives him to the library and waits outside for his interview to be done, and Castiel feels relief wash over him when he steps out and catches sight of the impala parked at the curb.

 

“How’d it go?” Dean asks, hand reaching forward to turn down the music blaring from the speakers.

 

“I think it went well. I was very polite and she smiled at me quite a lot,” Castiel responds, shifting in his seat to fasten his seatbelt.

 

“Well with that charming face, of course she was smiling at you,” Dean jokes, and Castiel feels a small blush creeping its way up his cheeks.

 

“T-thank you, Dean.”

 

Dean asks if he’s hungry and decides to drive them to a nearby diner.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Castiel says when they’re waiting for their food to come out, fingers fumbling with the napkin on his lap. Dean looks up from his cell phone and gives him a concerned nod. “Do I have any family?”

 

Dean stares at him silently for a moment, tracing over the furrowed brows and slight smile with his eyes. His stomach twists, and he wants to lie, to tell him he doesn’t, because if he tells him the truth it’ll ruin everything, but looking at Castiel like this makes him weak.

 

“Yeah, ‘course you do,” Dean nods, stomach flipping at the sight of Castiel’s widening smile.

 

“Do they live nearby? A brother or a sister? or both?” he asks excitedly, hands coming up to rest on the table.

 

“Well, they don’t live nearby...uh. You have a sister named Hannah, a really really crazy uncle named Meta….I mean, Marv,” he clears his throat, “but Marv is in jail. He’s not a nice guy. You also have a brother named Gabriel who’s been MIA for years.” Castiel contemplates this, hands returning to fumble with his napkin.

 

“I have a brother and a sister. Older siblings?” he asks.

 

“Hannah is your younger sister, Gabriel is your older brother.” Castiel is silent, and Dean can see the gears turning in his head. They’re interrupted by the waitress, who puts down two hot burgers with fries.

 

“Enjoy,” she says, eyes lingering on Dean far too long for Castiel’s comfort.

 

“So no one knows where Gabriel is. What about Hannah?” Castiel asks finally after minutes of silent eating.

 

“Uh, Hannah lives far away. I’m not sure where,” Dean lies, dragging a fry through a mound of ketchup.

 

“Well there’s gotta be some way to contact her. She’s my sister!” Castiel blurts. He looks at Dean with desperate eyes.

 

“Yeah, I mean, we could try to contact her. But, Cas, why the interest all of a sudden?” Dean asks curiously, eyes glued to Castiel.

 

“Well it’s just been so lonely in my apartment. I don’t enjoy living by myself and, I think of you and Sam, who at least always have each other, and I was thinking maybe if I had family with me I wouldn’t feel so alone,” he explains, voice soft, averting Dean’s gaze.

 

“Cas, why didn’t you tell us you were lonely?” Dean’s voice is gentle now, and he reaches a hand across the booth to place on Castiel’s forearm.

 

“Well it’s not like it’ll do any good. You and Sam come over when you can, and a lot of the time you’re out working.” Dean let’s out a long sigh, hating the thought of what he’d have to do now.

 

“I’ll get in contact with Hannah. I promise,” he says, and Castiel gives him such a thankful look, he wants to pull him across the booth and wrap him in his arms.

  


After they eat, Dean drops Castiel off at his apartment and heads back to the bunker to pack for a case down in Georgia.

 

“I’ll only be gone a couple of days,” he assures Castiel when he leans into the driver window to say goodbye.

 

“Okay, please don’t forget to call my sister,” he says anxiously, and Dean gives him an assuring smile and a nod.

 

“I won’t, Cas. Take care.”

 

“You too, Dean.”

 

___

The case down in Georgia turns out to be a nest of vamps, and it takes him and Sam an entire week and a half to finish up the job.

 

“You’ve been really quiet for a while,” Sam says on the drive back up, looking at Dean with a concerned expression.

 

“Yeah, so?” Dean snaps, refusing to look at him.

 

“Did something happen?...Something with Cas?” Dean sighs, loosening his grip on the steering wheel and glancing at Sam.

 

“He asked me if he had family, and god, Sam, you should’ve seen his face. I couldn’t tell him no. So I told him he had a sister named Hannah and a brother named Gabriel but that Gabriel had gone MIA,” he explains, feeling his brothers concern growing with every word.

 

“Oh god, Dean. What are you gonna do? He’s gonna wanna see her,” Sam points out, which doesn’t help to ease Dean’s angst.

 

“Yeah, I know Sammy. I’m just gonna call her down and talk to her. Explain what’s going on and hope she doesn’t mess this up.”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you don’t actually think that’s gonna work, Dean, do you? Because after the fight you guys had when he was dying, I don’t think she’s gonna be inclined to do you any favors,” Sam reminds him, as if he’d forgotten.

 

“I know, Sam. But I figure, Hannah cares about Cas, so she might be willing to go along with it,” Dean explains.

 

“I have no faith in this working, but you seem to be calling the shots, so good luck with that.”

 

___

Dean paces back and forth, taking one last breath before finally settling on the edge of his mattress.

 

“Hannah, if you’re listening, I really need you to help me out,” he says, realizing how lame of a prayer it is until he hears it out loud. He waits a few moments, and when nothing happens, he tries again.

 

“Listen, Hannah. I know we didn’t part friends, and I know there’s a lot of things that you blame me for, and I don’t disagree with you. But this actually is really important, and I need you to just put your dislike for me aside, even if it’s just for five minutes.” There room is silent again, and like before, nothing happens.

 

“Hannah, it’s Cas. Castiel is alive, and he needs you, so please get down here.”

 

He hears the familiar flutter of wings, and with a pang of hurt he realizes his heart is racing at the automatic association of the sound with Cas.

 

“Castiel is alive?” he hears from behind him, and when he turns, Hannah is standing on the other side of his bed, eyes wide with confusion and hope.

 

“Yeah, but listen, there are some things you gotta know,” Dean says cautiously, pushing himself off the bed and coming to stand in front of her.

 

“Where is he?” she asks, eyes sweeping around the room as if she had missed his obvious presence.

 

“He’s not here-”

 

“Dean Winchester, did you lie to get me down here? If you did, I will have you know the host of heaven are far too occupied to be-”

 

“Will you just let me talk?!” Dean shouts, and Hannah falls into silence. “Jeez, thank you.” He throws his hands into the air with exasperation.

 

“Make this quick, Winchester.”

 

“Okay, Cas is alive. His grace is gone, so he’s completely human. He has no memories and I’ve been lying to him about everything. As of now, he thinks he’s just a normal guy whose house burned down, and lost his memories and all of his belongings in a fire. He doesn’t know that Sam and I are hunters, and he has no clue about anything supernatural, including- and _especially_ \- angels,” Dean explains.

 

Without missing a beat, Hannah says, “if all of this is true, then why would you call me down to tell me all of this? You know I would never lie to Castiel, and now that I know he’s alive I _will_ find him.”

 

“Okay, see, I was afraid you’d say that. The only reason I’m telling you all of this is ‘cause he started asking about family, and I felt so bad, so I told him he had a sister and he really wants to ‘meet’ you-”

 

“An angel does not deserve-”

 

“He’s not an angel anymore!” Hannah watches him silently, and begins to pace around the room, eyes sweeping over the collection of weapons on his wall.

 

“I assume you made up all of these things because you don’t want to drag Castiel back into the dangerous world of the supernatural,” she says finally, stopping in front of him again. Dean nods, trying to gauge her facial expression.

 

“His memories are gone and he’s got a fresh start. I want him to live a normal life. I want him to find happiness.”

 

“The kind of happiness that one cannot find in the world you live in,” she states matter of factly, and Dean nods again.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“I, too, care for Castiel. So long as these lies don’t hurt him, I’ll go along with your plan,” she says finally, and Dean let’s out a breath of relief he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

 

“Thank you, Hannah,” he smiles at her. Her face remains stoic and detached.

 

“This does not make us friends, Dean Winchester. I am doing this for Castiel, and only Castiel.”

 

“Fine, then. As long as you keep in mind that both of us want the same thing for him, then we’re good.”

___

Castiel wakes up with a start, the ringing of his phone jarring him out of sleep. Dean’s name flashes on the screen, and he fights with the blankets tangled around his legs to reach it in time.

 

“Hello?” he groans, his voice laced with exhaustion.

 

” _Heya, Cas. I’m sorry, did I wake you?_ ” Dean asks, his voice lowering to a whisper.

 

“Yes, but that’s okay,” Castiel assures him, kicking the rest of the tangled sheets off his leg and trying to unravel them one-handed. “How was your case?”

 

“ _Good, took a lot longer than we thought,_ ” Dean comments, and Castiel can hear him shuffling around, possibly on a bed.

 

“Yes, you’ve been gone for more than just ‘a few days,’” Castiel agrees. There’s a comfortable silence, and Dean can hear Castiel fumbling with his sheets.

 

“ _Listen, I uh, I talked to Hannah,_ ” he says finally, listening to Castiel fall silent.

 

“You did?” Castiel asks, and he tries to keep the excitement out of his voice, but fails miserably, “what did she say? Is it possible for me to see her?”

 

“ _Yeah, Cas, she’s headed here as we speak. Said she should be here by tomorrow,_ ” Dean tells him, and it makes his heart swell to hear the happiness in Castiel’s voice.

 

“Oh, Dean, that’s great! I’m so glad you could get in touch with her, thank you so much,” he says, not even caring that Dean can probably hear his smile. “Oh, I almost forgot! While you were gone Miss Simons called me, and I got the job! I started working there two days ago.”

 

" _Cas, that’s awesome! How do you like it_?”

 

“I love it, Dean. I get to organize the books and help people find them. In my spare time I get to pick out any book I like and read. It’s the best job in the world,” Castiel tells him, letting out a loud yawn between sentences.

 

“ _I’m so happy for you. Listen, I can tell you’re really tired, so we can talk more when I go over tomorrow, okay_?”

 

“Will you be here when Hannah comes?”

 

“ _Do you want me to be there?_ ”

 

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel breathes.

 

“ _Okay, I will then. Goodnight Cas_.”

 

“Sleep well, Dean.”

 

___

 

“Are you sure she won’t want something to eat? Maybe you should cook something,” Castiel mutters, pulling the two bottles of juice out of the plastic grocery bag and shoving them into the refrigerator.

 

“Cas, trust me, she doesn’t have much of an appetite,” Dean responds, smiling to himself.

 

“Yes, maybe usually, but she’s been driving all night to get here. She’ll probably be starving,” Castiel argues, glaring at him with his hands on his hips. Dean is taken aback by the domesticity of the situation; helping Castiel put away groceries and arguing about whether they should cook for his visiting sister.

 

“Trust me! She won’t want to eat,” Dean says with finality, shutting the fridge door and glaring back at Castiel.

 

“Fine! But if she does say she’s hungry, you’re going out and bringing her a burger or something,” Castiel says, jabbing a finger into Dean’s chest.

 

“Fine!” After a moment of standing and glaring, he realizes how close they are, Castiel’s finger pressing into his chest, their bodies close in the cramped space of the kitchen.

 

“W-what time did you say she was supposed to get here?” Castiel asks, breaking the sudden tension, hand finally pulling away.

 

As if on cue, the doorbell rings. Dean is surprised Hannah even knows how to do that.

 

“That must be her,” Castiel says to himself more than anything. He wipes his hands on his jeans as if they’re sweaty and makes his way to the front door.

 

When he pulls it open, Hannah is standing on the other side dressed in L.L Bean boots, dark blue jeans, a flannel, and a thick green jacket.

“Hello brother,” she says, a genuine smile spreading across her face. Dean can’t see Castiel’s face, but he pulls her into a tight hug.

 

“Hello Hannah,” he says, and though Dean still can’t see his face, he can hear the emotion in his voice. They step inside after a moment, both standing in the entryway awkwardly.

 

“Well,” Dean says, clapping his hands together, “why don’t we all catch up in the living room.” Hannah spares him a disinterested glance and follows Castiel to the couch.

 

“Sister, you are not hungry, are you? I imagine driving all night must have you famished,” Castiel says, taking one of his Hannah’s hands into his own.

 

“Actually, yes, Castiel. I’m starving,” she says with a soft smile. Dean’s eyes narrow to slits, and he wants to reach over jab his angel blade into one of her thighs.

 

“Dean will go get you something to eat,” Castiel says, turning around and giving Dean the same look Dean is giving Hannah.

 

“Yes, I will,” Dean says through gritted teeth, hoping Hannah isn’t trying to get him out of the apartment to say something to Castiel that will mess everything up.

 

After Dean is gone, Castiel turns to Hannah with a serious expression.

 

“When I asked Dean about our family he mentioned you and Gabriel, oh and our crazy uncle Marv who’s in jail, but he didn’t anything about our parents. I didn’t want to push it but, now that you’re here...where are our parents?” Castiel asks. Hannah’s face looks panicked for a moment.

 

“We never had a mother. Well, I supposed we did, but we never met her,” Hannah lies, hating the heartbroken expression that crosses Castiel’s face.

 

“And our father?”

 

“He was a good man. He’s been gone for years, though.”

 

“I see. So it’s just you, me, and Gabriel, then?”

 

“Yes. Although Gabriel’s whereabouts are so unknown it often feels like he’s gone too,” Hannah says, watching Castiel’s frown grow. Gabriel and Castiel had been so close before everything happened; before Lucifer and Michael’s big fight, back when everything in heaven was simple and God was still around to keep order.

 

“What was he like?” Castiel asks suddenly, giving Hannah an encouraging smile.

 

“He was the joker of the family. He was always pulling pranks and loved to trick people. You were very close to him when we were young.”

 

“I would like to meet him someday,” Castiel says, smiling fondly as if recalling old memories.

 

“I am sorry about your memory loss, brother,” Hannah says, placing a gentle hand over Castiel’s on his lap.

 

“It’s okay. Dean helps me a lot, and I feel like I’m starting to adjust,” he assures her, stroking her hand with his thumb.

 

“Yes, of course Dean does,” Hannah says resentfully, dropper her gaze to their hands.

 

“I have noticed the tension between you two. Did something happen that I don’t remember?”

 

“You love Dean Winchester more than anyone in the world,” Hannah states, meeting Castiel’s surprised look. “Whenever it has come down to it, you have chosen him over our family time and time again.” Castiel looks ashamed, and he pulls his hands out of his sister’s slowly.

 

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t recall any of it, but if your resentment towards Dean is because I have placed his importance over yours, I truly am sorry,” he says, and Hannah is almost taken aback by the rawness of his emotions and the hurt in his eyes.

 

There’s a loud knock on the door suddenly, and Castiel rushes to get it. Dean walks in with a murderous expression, dropping a greasy paper bag in front of Hannah with too much force.

 

“There you go, _Ms.Novak_ ,” he smiles forcefully.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Hannah smiles back just as forced.

 

“Okay,” Castiel says nervously, trying to smooth over the tension, “Hannah, why don’t you tell us a childhood story while you eat?” he suggests.

 

“Yeah, Hannah,” Dean smiles again, putting his face in his hands with faked excitement, “tell us a story.”

 

___

 

“Are you sure you won’t stay here? I can give you my bed for the night,” Castiel almost begs, holding on to one of Hannah’s hands tightly.

 

“Cas, there are like a million bedrooms at my place, everyone can sleep comfortably there. She can come visit again in the morning,” Dean groans, trying to push past them and out of the apartment.

 

“It just doesn’t make any sense that she came to visit m _e_  and gets to stay with _you_ ,” Castiel whines- _whines_ \- and Dean throws his hands up in defeat.

 

“Fine, you come over too, and we’ll _all_ sleep at my place,” he says, and that makes Castiel break into a smile and shake Hannah’s hand excitedly.

 

“Okay,” he says, running inside to toss some clothes into his duffel bag.

 

That is how a couple of hours later, he finds himself in his old room, staring at his old bed without sheets on it. _Oh shoot,_ he thinks.

 

“Hey Dean,” he whispers, knocking on Dean’s door softly. After a moment of shuffling, a grumpy looking Dean pulls the door open.

 

“What?” he asks, and Castiel can tell he had been about to fall asleep.

 

“There are no sheets on my bed,” he explains, feeling bad for making Dean get up. Dean stares at him, as if unable to comprehend his words. He blinks, then finally sighs, pulling his door open all the way.

 

“There’s no way in hell I’m digging in the storage room for sheets again,” he grumbles, walking to his bed and grabbing one of the pillows, “just sleep in here, I’ll take the couch.”

 

“That’s not fair,” Castiel blurts, blocking Dean’s path out of the room. “This is your room, you shouldn’t have to leave. I’ll take the couch,” he says, moving to grab the pillow out of Dean’s arms.

 

“No,” Dean grumbles, pulling the pillow away, “you’re the guest. Take the bed,” he argues, trying to push Castiel aside so he can get to the door.

 

“No,” Castiel hisses, moving into Dean’s space this time and reaching for the pillow.

 

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean hisses back, and now they’re yanking the pillow back and forth like two five year olds.

 

“Dean, stop being so stubborn.” Without realizing he’d been backing up, the back of Dean’s knees hit the mattress and he goes toppling backwards, pulling Castiel and the pillow down with him. The pillow ends up between them as Castiel’s body lands directly over his.

 

“Owww,” Dean moans, reaching down to rub the side of his stomach where Castiel’s elbow jabbed him.

 

“I’m sorry, but this is what you get for being stubborn,” Castiel mumbles, pulling his face out of the sheets to look at Dean. Their faces are suddenly too close, and Dean is aware of every inch of skin that’s touching Castiel.

 

“Cas,” Dean whispers, and he can see Castiel register their proximity too, eyes growing wide.

 

“You know, there’s enough space on here for two,” Castiel says, and before Dean can stop himself, his hands reach out and cup Castiel's face, bringing it down until their lips meet. Castiel lets out a muffled sound, hands pushing against Dean’s chest in protest, until Dean’s tongue finds its way between his lips and then Castiel’s body is pressing into the pillow between them. Dean’s hands tangle themselves in Castiel’s hair, one hand sliding down to curve at the nape of his neck. Castiel’s hands are unsure, one of them on Dean’s shoulder, the other one holding himself up on the mattress. It only lasts a few seconds before Dean is pushing him off, scrambling off the bed with wide eyes.

 

“I’ll take the couch,” he says, voice almost as deep and gravelly as Castiel’s. A second later the door slams shut and Castiel is alone with a semi-erection and a million questions running through his head.

 

It takes an eternity for sleep to come, and when it finally does, he’s standing in a room full of people, some of them holding Dean in place. Hannah is standing between them.

 

_”You gave us order, Castiel, and we gave you our trust. Don’t lose it over one man,” she says, handing him a long, silver blade. “This is justice.”_

_He looks at Dean, who’s staring back at him with wide, disbelieving eyes._

In his dream, he does not kill Dean. He watches Hannah turn on him and walk away, but Dean stays. Dean stays and that’s all that matters.

The next morning when Dean is the only one up, pulling omelette muffins out of the oven, Castiel stands in the doorway of the kitchen in silence and waits for him to turn around. When Dean finally catches sight of him, he jumps in surprise, clutching at his heart and shooting Castiel an angry look.

 

“Jeez, you ever make any noise when you walk into a room?” he grumbles.

 

“Dean, we need to talk,” Castiel says, walking into the kitchen and standing by the oven. Dean crosses his arms over his chest and his face goes stony, as if suddenly remembering the night before.

 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, refusing to look at him.

 

“Yes, there is Dean. I can’t keep doing this,” he finally says, and Dean looks at him as if those were the last words he’d ever expected to come out of his mouth. “I don’t know how you feel about this situation, but frankly, I can’t take it anymore.”

 

“What situation?” Dean asks, but Castiel can hear the nervousness in his voice.

 

“Whatever it is we have between us, Dean!” Castiel tries not to shout, but his voice comes out louder than intended. “I have a feeling this has been going on for far longer than I can remember, and I have no idea why I didn’t put an end to it before, but I’m ending it now!”

 

“What are you going to do, then?” Dean asks, and it almost comes out sounding like a challenge.

 

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice goes soft, and he lets out a long sigh before continuing, “what is it that you feel for me? Because you can’t have sex with me, or kiss me, and then pretend like there’s nothing going on!

 

“When did we ever have sex?!” Dean really is shouting now, pulling the oven mittens off his hands and tossing them into the sink angrily.

 

“In the forest after we were kidnapped! Don’t you _dare_  look at me like that and tell me I’m crazy, I _know_  that actually happened!”

 

“It didn’t mean anything, Cas! It was just sex!” A deafening silence falls between them.

 

“So is that how you feel? You kiss me and fuck me, but it’s all just meaningless to you?” Castiel’s voice breaks, and Dean can tell how hard it is for him to get the words out.

 

“Yeah, Cas. I don’t ever wanna be anything but friends,” Dean says coldly, and it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to reach out and wipe the tears trailing down Castiel’s face.

 

“Well I can’t do that, Dean.”

 

“Why not?”

  
“Because I’m in love with you. I was in love with you before, and I'm in love with you now. And you- you know how I feel. How can you do this to me,” and he really is crying now, sobs racking his body. Dean moves forward, pulling him close in one sweeping motion, and Castiel is sobbing into the crook of his neck, hands fisting the back of his sweater.

 

"I can't do this. I can't do this," he keeps saying into the fabric of Dean's shirt, and Dean feels his heart break a little with each word.


End file.
